


swooner (that's what you are)

by ev0lution



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Stars, Another Weird Au by Me, But that's the worst of it, F/M, Gen, Gratuitous use of flashback, Mentions of Running Away, Mutual Pining, Somebody stop her (I'm her), Swearing, Unbeta'd, Yikes, and italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ev0lution/pseuds/ev0lution
Summary: Jyn Erso was a rock star.That was what the magazine said, anyways, the words stamped across the group photo of Rogue One. Jyn tilted her head, trying to spot what they did.But Jyn Erso was not a rock star.Jyn was a musician, not a rock star, because rock stars were supposed to be cool, or at least accomplished. Jyn had failed so much that someone was sure to write an odyssey about it someday.-They're-a-band AU





	swooner (that's what you are)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Zola's "Swooner", go listen to it.
> 
> Beware, comma splices ahead.

Jyn Erso was a rock star.

That was what the magazine said, anyways, the words stamped across the group photo of Rogue One. Jyn tilted her head, trying to spot what they did.

She was posed on a stool, wanting for her drums. Sitting straight up, kohl heavy and wearing a large, loose black tank top with three thick white stripes across her chest. They were her own clothes; it was one of those photoshoots where they wanted you to bring your own clothes, so it was _authentic_ , or something. That illusion was ruined for Jyn by the drumsticks the photographer had made her hold, because she had no idea what to do with them. She didn’t just casually drumsticks at all hours of the day, like he apparently thought she did. It was exactly the thing that someone who _wasn’t_ a musician would think up.

Jyn was just off-centre in the photo, her head tilted towards Cassian. He was wearing a cream-coloured button down, looking professional and serious next to her grungy mess. She liked the contrast.

Bodhi was on her other side, in a neat, if wildly colour shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose. He was smiling wide, apparently having missed the memo that they were going for the image of cool, aloof rock stars. Last was Kay on Cassian’s left, collar stiff, fingers folded. He looked like Slender Man. She made a note to tease him about it later.

There were two integral members missing from the photo, but Baze and Chirrut always shucked the spotlight. They weren’t on stage and they didn’t want to be. Jyn looked up from the magazine to them, seated across from her in the fancy conference room. Their presence at this kind of gig was a rarity, and a comfort. Jyn felt too big for her skin, stomach crawling with nerves. She focused on the rhythmic movement of Baze’s knitting needles, trying to let it hypnotize her into calm.

Jyn didn’t open the magazine, having lived the interview inside. They really only focused on Bodhi and Cassian, known for being the friendlier, more charismatic pair. Jyn and Kay were spared from talking too much; the interviewer had picked up on that after Kay’s one word answers, and the way Jyn preferred a good look over saying anything clever, which wasn’t much help in a traditional interview.

The interview they were about to tackle was one that Jyn had been dreading since they booked it. It was a _live_ radio show. Jyn would be stuck in the radio booth with the interviewer, expected to give appropriate answers on the spot. It was almost worse that the station had provided practice questions before hand, because she worked herself into a tizzy trying to memorize answers. Cassian had taken the sheet away from her at that point, while Baze bullied some food into her, and they collectively tried to distract her. It had worked, until she woke up that morning and remembered that today was the day.

Jesus shit, she hated live interviews. The last time she did this, she dropped _fuck_ within the first minute thirty.

Cassian’s knee drifted down against hers, as if sensing her distress. He didn’t even look at her, flipping absently through a magazine. She was glad. She didn’t know if she could handle his concerned eyes that minute. She pressed her knee back into his instead, probably a bit too hard, but he didn’t let up. She tried to press the knot from her chest into his knee. Cassian didn’t waiver, pressing back just as firmly. He tossed the magazine back on the table and drifted back in his chair, colliding his shoulder with hers.

“Rogue One? She’s ready for you.” The receptionist poked her head into the conference room, and Jyn lifted her foot from the table, shoving her magazine over the dirt she’d left. Cassian stood, unofficial team captain.

///

Jyn Erso was not a rock star.

She was a drummer, and a guitarist, and a singer, and occasionally a pianist. She could play a dozen other instruments, and usually could roll with whatever you threw at her, but she mostly stuck to the drums and vocals. Jyn was a musician, not a rock star, because rock stars were supposed to be cool, or at least accomplished. Jyn had failed so much that someone was sure to write an odyssey about it someday.

She was not a rock star, but a musician with a lot of luck and some decent talent. If it weren’t for the people she knew, she wouldn’t be where she was. And she wasn’t talking about either of her music producer fathers, or her pianist mother.

When Cassian found her in that bar three years ago, he may as well have dragged her from prison. Kay’s chokehold on her patience nearly had her stomping right out the door, but Cassian sent him off, and asked to speak with her alone. She would be forever grateful that she’d placed a shred of trust in Cassian and let what he said slip into her core.

Jyn Erso was not a rock star; she could not stress that enough. Hardly anyone knew her name (one of the benefits of being in a band). The attention that would regularly burn through one person was filtered through four – six, if you were talking about the die hards that knew about Baze and Chirrut. Cassian was the best known, being the front man. Bodhi fell somewhere in the middle. More people knew her name than Kay’s, because she was the only girl in the group, and he had the least fans. At least, she liked to tell him that. She was sure there was a decently sized pack of weirdos that had a thing for ugly wire rims, stiff clothes, and a surprising talent for techno, for someone who regularly listened to _Chopin_.

///

“If you don’t know the name Rogue One, you must be living under a rock, because they’re a band that has taken the world by storm with their debut album, _The Plans_ , featuring chart toppers like _Hope_ , the melancholy _Stardust_ , and the unforgettable _I Rebel_. I’m fortunate enough to get a chance to chat with them now. Hello everyone, and welcome to the studio.”

Their interviewer had bubblegum hair and pastel purple headphones. Her name was Amilyn Holdo, and she was one of the major DJs at Resistance Radio. She came with a glowing recommendation from her ex, Leia Organa. Jyn figured if anyone could breakup and still be on good enough grounds with their ex to have semi regular movie nights, they were either very mature, or really fucking weird. After three seconds of talking to her, Jyn decided it was both.

Organa’s endorsement was the only thing that had them on the show. Bodhi and Cassian could everlastingly ooze charm like honey, but none of it would matter when Jyn or Kay opened their wood-chipper mouths. If they were going to do a live interview, they needed someone on their side.

“Thank you very much, Amilyn,” Cassian replied pleasantly, and Bodhi enthusiastically expressed happiness to be there. Jyn tried for a smile, forgetting that it meant nothing on a radio show. It was better than Kay, who simply folded his long fingers together.

“So, you have all been together for about three years now,” Holdo said, smiling encouragingly at them from across the table. She could smile all she wanted. Jyn wasn’t about to forget that Holdo was Leia’s ex, and that anyone who dated Leia was sure to be smart as a whip. “Where did it all start?”

Cassian leaned forward, looking at Kay, “Kay and I have been friends for a long time. Since I was fourteen. We had the same agent.”

“And that was back in your Broadway days?”

“Yes,” Cassian said. He didn’t mention that trying to pull Kay from the stability of his Broadway contract had been somewhat like pulling out a tooth with a pair of pliers: gruesome and difficult, if not impossible.

Jyn watched him and remembered when he first told her about his experience on the stage. She hadn’t marked him for it when she met him – she knew his name, hazily, from an acoustic Latin album he released in Mexico – but the better she grew to know him, the better she understood. Cassian was a fantastic actor, if he often tried to divert from the fact. He knew how to play a role, whether it was in the chorus in _Newsies_ , or the understudy for the damn fool that shot Hamilton, or an easy, knowable rock star.

“Jyn was next,” Cassian said, turning his eyes to her. “She was easily the hardest to convince.”

Holdo laughed, turning to Jyn too, and her unease spiked, “Oh, really, Jyn? Why’s that?”

Jyn glanced at Cassian, then back at Holdo, “Our music styles weren’t exactly compatible.”

“Or so we thought,” Cassian said, and smoothly moved on. “We talked to Bodhi after that – he was easiest, Jyn already knew him. Last were Baze and Chirrut.”

“Ah, the men behind the curtain,” Holdo said, directing her attention to where Baze and Chirrut sat, closest to the door. “For those who aren’t super fans – or super creeps, like me – Baze and Chirrut serve as the producers for the majority of Rogue One’s album, and act as mentors, is that right?”

“Yes,” Chirrut answered, “These four make the magic. We are simply guides.”

Holdo smiled, charmed, “And you’re married, aren’t you?”

Chirrut said, “Yes,” at the same time that Baze said, “No.”

Jyn leaned back in her chair, familiar to the debate. It loosened the knot a little as she watched Chirrut and Baze start to bicker lovingly.

“We had a ceremony on the cliffs close to our home,” Chirrut said, ignoring Baze’s interjection. “We were very young, but we knew.”

“It wasn’t legal,” Baze said, without looking up from his knitting.

Holdo looked interested in pursuing that story, but Cassian interrupted her, bringing the interview back on track. Jyn knew he planned on keeping the script as close as possible to the questions provided to them, to keep it from getting out of hand. “We found Baze and Chirrut three years ago, and just caught up as they were headed out of the business. Probably the best luck of our careers – we only _just_ caught them.”

///

“You’re sure this is the right place?” Jyn peered skeptically at the rundown building, the name _J-DHA T-M-L_ written out, missing the E’s and P. Jyn hoped whoever had stolen the letters had reposted them as _EEP_ in a weird location, like a MacDonald’s or a children’s park. It was exactly the sort of thing she would’ve done as a teenager. _PEE_ was too easy.

Cassian checked his phone again, nodding. “Kay texted me the address, with exact coordinates.”

Jyn snorted. She hadn’t known either of them long at that point, but she knew them long enough to know that texting coordinates was _exactly_ the kind of bullshit brainiac thing Kay would do.

“Jyn,” Cassian pointed to a beaten red truck and Jyn nodded, shoving her messenger bag up her shoulder and turning to the door. It stuck when Jyn pulled on it, and she yanked harder, stumbling back it as opened. She would’ve body slammed Cassian if he hadn’t caught her at her shoulders. “You good?”

Jyn jerked up, neck burning, and caught the door before it dropped shut. She slammed it open a little aggressively.

The building looked a bit more optimistic on the inside than it had on the outside. Furniture was sparse and worn, but clean, the carpet beneath their feet in the same state. But those weren’t the first things she noticed; the first thing was the stack of boxes piled neatly by the door, labelled in thick sharpie.

“Hello?” Cassian called out while Jyn floated towards the boxes, reading their labels: _office, recording studio, reception_.

“Where’d you hear about these guys again?” Jyn asked, looking at him.

“They’ve been tangentially involved in Jedi Records for a long time, usually working on smaller artists,” Cassian said, frowning at the boxes beside her. “But maybe not for much longer.”

Jyn raised her eyebrows at him, _no shit._ But she didn’t stomp out, like she might’ve if she didn’t know Cassian. She was learning to trust his judgement. He found _her_ , didn’t he?

A huge, mammoth-like man walked out of the door behind the reception desk, holding a box roughly the size of Jyn’s torso under one arm. They all blinked at one another – how hadn’t they heard a man that _large_ coming? The man looked equally confused, taking them in with knitted, bushy eyebrows. They were probably an odd-looking pair, Cassian in his blazer and Jyn in her ripped jeans.

Cassian broke out into a smile, approaching with an outstretched hand. “My name is Cassian Andor,” he said, then tilted his chin back at her. “And this is Jyn Erso. Are you Baze Malbus?” Jyn was sure Cassian knew the answer already, having compiled disturbingly detailed files on everyone he was recruiting for his little team. Jyn’s included a music award that she got when she was ten.

Baze eyed Cassian’s hand for a moment before taking it, turning his suspicious eyes on Jyn. Jyn crossed her arms in return, sizing him up, like he was her.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Cassian said once he retracted his hand, “Is Chirrut Imwe around?”

Baze squinted at him. “You’re here about a band?”

Cassian raised his eyebrows at Jyn, who shrugged. _Maybe you’re not the only one that did research_ , her look told him, and Cassian looked skeptical. Jyn almost laughed. Cassian took great pride in the hundred fifty megabytes he’d gathered on his laptop.

“Yes,” Cassian said, “We’re starting one. It’s called Rogue One.”

Baze shook his head and abruptly turned, “Get out.”

Cassian blinked. Jyn set her hand on her hips, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Baze said, still walking away from them. Jyn was ready to turn on her heel and leave – he obviously didn’t want them there, and Jyn never stayed where she wasn’t wanted – but Cassian started after him. She sighed before dragging her heels after him.

“Are you talking about Chirrut Imwe?” Cassian asked, striding quickly after Baze, who was clearly trying to outpace them without running.

Baze looked back at them, like he was wondering why they were still following. Jyn thought they should just find another producer – preferably _one_ , so they didn’t have to figure out a way to pay _two_ , since they were living in a one-bedroom apartment with Cassian and Kay sleeping in the living room-slash-kitchen, after Cassian’s fit of gallantry had him insisting she take the privacy of the bedroom. Also preferable, a single producer that _actually wanted to work with them_ – but over the past nine months she’d spent with Cassian, she had also learned that his thoroughness lent to stubbornness.

“We’re building a band,” Cassian said persistently, “And we want you and Chirrut Imwe to produce for us. It would be myself, Jyn, and two other men, named Kay Tuesso and Bodhi Rook. Rook is from around here, maybe you’ve heard of him?”

Baze stopped to groan, like they just made his life a whole lot harder. Cassian glanced back at her and she slid past him, ignoring the proximity warning bells going off in her head. She put herself between Baze and Cassian, then strode ahead of Baze. Cassian wanted to talk to Chirrut Imwe; she’d find Chirrut Imwe.

Jyn walked defiantly forward, even as she heard Baze ask Cassian what the hell she was doing. She stomped in the only open doorway, finding a man sitting on a desk, smiling at her, despite his cloudy eyes. Oh – stomping.

“Ah,” he said cheerily, “You must be the rogues. You’re late.”

///

“You knew they were coming?” Holdo asked after they recounted the story, smiling wide, “And you knew what they were called? Those are some pretty impressive psychic skills, Chirrut.”

Chirrut smiled like he had a secret, just like he had three years ago, “Not psychic, but devout. My religion guides me.”

Baze rolled his eyes, almost audibly. “It was a good guess,” he said, “And he said that some _outcasts_ were coming for us, not rogues. He just overheard Cassian talking in the hall.”

Chirrut smiled wider.

“Jyn,” Holdo said, causing Jyn to almost jolt, “I notice you’re wearing a Kyber crystal necklace – that comes from the same belief system, does it not?”

Jyn’s hand immediately locked around the crystal and her voice was a touch defensive, “My mother gave it to me.”

Holdo’s smile was soft, and Jyn wasn’t fooled for a second. “It’s lovely. She’s working out of Britain, isn’t she? Or is she in the States?”

Jyn fixed her with a stare, unappreciative of the very _unsubtle_ attempt to pry about her father. This was why she hated interviews; they always tried to dig up what Jyn had worked hard to bury. Cassian spoke smoothly, foot sliding against hers under the table.

“Lyra Erso is a hard woman to pin down,” Cassian said, “But we were all in the studio at the same time when she was working on an orchestra piece there, working on the next album.”

Holdo’s smile turned sly, like she knew exactly what he was doing. Cassian smiled easily back, not even trying to hide it. But maybe Leia was right about her, because Holdo didn’t press, and rolled with it. “I heard you all just finished building your own studio in your house. That must be nice for recording.”

“Yeah,” Bodhi answered, “It’s down in our basement. It’s nice, because we keep some pretty weird habits. I think Rebel Records was ready to tell us to beat it.”

“Every band has their own rituals,” Holdo replied, “Their own practices. Want to detail some of yours for me?”

///

They’d been in the studio a week before, and that was where Bodhi pulled his reply from. It was as good example as any, since they were all creatures of habit; they stuck to their rituals.

Jyn was a night owl. She would wake at one in the morning and sprint down to the studio, hands beating the tune from her dream out on her thighs. It would take her an hour or a month to lay out the music for a song, and nothing in between.

Cassian was a much better lyricist, and that’s what he gravitated towards, while Jyn focused on the music. He was the early riser, going to the studio first thing in the morning as part of a routine, never leaving without writing at least a couple lines first. Even if they didn’t make it into a song or album, he didn’t leave without doing that.

He had a huge whiteboard in their studio, right at the entranceway, where he’d write lyrics half-formed, or nebulous ideas that he wanted to chew on. Jyn played off the ideas there once, giving him music to fit, and now he left notes for her, written in the shorthand they’d developed. Jyn took to leaving sheets of music covered in her scrawl taped to the board, and he would take the pound of emotion she’d written and translate it into words. They used one another as diving boards, bouncing off each other’s work until they made a song.

Though Cassian kept a strict schedule, their house was littered with notepads of all shapes and sizes, Cassian’s italic handwriting softening the paper. But the covers were full of Jyn’s chicken scratch, scrawled the moment she saw the book; more often, she was sent sprinting down the studio, grabbing whatever instrument she saw first.

Kay and Bodhi helped with some song writing, but they usually worked with what Jyn and Cassian handed over. Kay added an electronic shock to their work that Jyn _hated_ when she first heard it. But Bodhi added soft edges to Kay’s electricity, somehow making it work in her drum- and bass-heavy rifts, and Cassian’s cutting poetry. Chirrut and Baze added the final touches and polished, but weaved in and out of the process too, advising them whenever they got stuck, suggesting songs to look at for inspiration when they felt tapped out.

Outside the song writing process, they had weird habits too. Bodhi insisted on only wearing these shitty, beaten headphones he bought when he was twelve, rewired and refurbished so often that Jyn was fairly certain not a single piece was from the original model. Kay had to listen to every finished piece alone, shutting himself in his room and disappearing for hours at a time. Jyn had joked that it was so no one saw that he had emotions until Cassian pulled her aside quietly and asked her to stop.

It sent Jyn into a panic spiral that culminated in two things: first, she realized how much she cared about the big dumb robot, and second, she spent a hundred dollars on filling their fridge with those disgusting oil-like energy drinks that Kay was constantly knocking back. She knew that all was forgiven when he offered her one, especially once she choked it back until Kay tittered.

Chirrut’s weird habit wasn’t _that_ weird, not compared to the rest of them; he would blast the music at full volume, his hand on the speaker. He said that it was like he could see it. Jyn tried once, but didn’t get anything from it. Chirrut said it was because she needed to trust in the force of the music pounding under her hand. Jyn decided to stick to _her_ rituals, and forget trying to pick up on anyone else’s, especially Baze’s. He would sit and listen and knit until he had an entire article of clothing done.

Cassian and Jyn had the same habit, developed and moulded by the months they spent waiting for Kay’s contract to run out, and they split their time between bartending, finding the others, and writing music. The apartment was short on space, but they figured out that Jyn’s room had great acoustics. So they would sit on the floor, back to back, and just listen to what they’d recorded on Cassian’s laptop.

The habit carried through to their album development, and became a staple of the song writing process. They would sit on the floor and listen to the album through three times: the first just to listen, the second to tweak music, and the third to tweak lyrics. They sat back to back, sucking up each other’s warmth in contrast to the cool basement floor, heads drifting to one another’s shoulders. Cassian’s stubble would graze her cheek, and she figured out quickly that he sprayed his cologne on the left side of his neck. It was faint and familiar, curling up towards her. She knew that anything that distracted her from that was good enough to publish.

But Bodhi didn’t know that part.

///

“I bought them when I was twelve,” Bodhi said, handing his headphones over after carefully extracting them from their case. Holdo handed them delicately and Jyn didn’t blame her; they looked about as durable as a grenade with the pin pulled.

But they had sentiment that couldn’t be replaced, if everything else inside them could be. He’d used the money from his very first paycheck sweeping the floors of Empire Records to buy them. He thought it was his big break, especially once Empire agreed to give this tape a listen. But people in the Empire were excellent at empty promises. Jyn learned that lesson too.

“And these have made it through how many albums, now?”

Bodhi smiled, counting on his fingers, finger to thumb, “Um… if you could EPs and mixtapes, and our album – I think that makes it seven?”

“I would have a hard time discounting your album,” Holdo said, leaning forward on her elbows. “It’s called _The Plans_ , and it’s an extension of the EP you released a year and a half ago. Everyone knows the singles you’ve released – I don’t think I’ve gone a day without listening to any of them since you dropped the album. What else can you tell me about it?”

Cassian leaned forward, “I can tell you we owe a lot to Leia Organa, for collaborating with us on _Hope_.” He smiled, “No one would’ve listened to it, if she hadn’t agreed to feature with us.”

Bodhi called, “We love you, Leia!”

“I think we all owe Leia thanks,” Holdo agreed, smiling her glittering smile. “Now, I know that everyone loves _Hope_ and _I Rebel_ , but I have to say, _Stardust_ is my favourite. It’s very different you’re your usual work. Could you tell me a little bit about that? Jyn?”

Holdo was right; there was a quiet melancholy to _Stardust_ , a sharp contrast to Jyn’s usual colicky rock. Cassian had brought that out of her. They always collaborated a lot, but _Stardust_ was the result of sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the white board for three days, writing with each other for hours, scrutinizing every word. They hadn’t even started off as writing a song, but they were a few tequilas in and talking about their parents, and it just kind of… spiralled.

They took music Jyn had already written, and Cassian suggested they replace the electric guitar with an acoustic, then layered his low, rumbling voice under hers to echo _your father would be proud, your father would be proud_. After they recorded the first demo, Jyn remembered sitting there for hours, just listening to it over and over and over…

“It was all Cassian,” Jyn finally said, his foot pressing into hers. “I just write the music. His lyrics are what make that song.”

Holdo nodded and Jyn pulled herself up a little straighter. “But you can’t sell yourself short. The melody makes me cry every time, it shows a lot of experience – you mention your father in the song. You grew up in a very musical household, didn’t you?”

Jyn’s mouth was tight. “Yes.”

Holdo kept smiling, unfazed by the sharp answer. “Then you were picked up by The Partisans when you were just fourteen. Would you say the song was influenced by that experience?”

“I think it’s safe to say all our songs were influenced by our experiences,” Cassian said, but Holdo just nodded.

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed, “I’m just interested in the very different feeling that come from The Partisans versus _Stardust_. How did you move from The Partisans’ style to something like _Stardust_?”

“I moved from Atlanta to New York, then to Los Angeles,” Jyn said bluntly. Everyone in Rogue One laughed, and Holdo smiled a little wider.

Chirrut said, “Without that experience behind her, I’m sure we wouldn’t have gotten Bodhi. Or so I am told.”

“No, it’s true,” Bodhi jumped in eagerly, cutting off Holdo. “I was feeling pretty burned out when they found me. I don’t think I would’ve agreed, if Jyn hadn’t been on board.”

“You knew each other beforehand, is that right?” Holdo asked, probably smelling her next opening.

“Yeah, we met through The Partisans,” Bodhi said, again speaking quickly. “We kept in touch but hadn’t seen each other in person for over a year when she messaged me.”

///

Jyn texted Bodhi a week before they turned up at his coffee shop, but didn’t tell him why, or when she was coming, or that she was bringing Cassian. Her exact text was: _where do u work whats the address_. Cassian told her to play it cool, so Jyn decided to give him no context whatsoever, and completely railroad Bodhi when they saw him.

Cassian and Jyn spent half the day in Cassian’s clunky red car, Jyn with her feet on the dash. Cassian was kind enough to let her look at his research, getting her first look at it. He’d handed it over hesitantly, showing her Bodhi’s file, chalk full of samples of his music, lyric sheets, and even a couple interviews. She could see how he kept glancing at her under his shitty Ray Ban knockoffs, nervous in a way she’d never seen him.

They’d known each other for six months at that point, and had lived together for nearly as long. Jyn had witnessed his devotion to this project, his research bleeding into the latest hours at night, when she thought she would be the only one still awake. But no; she’d slip out of her room to get a glass of water, only to find him sitting at their lawn-furniture dinner table, face illuminated by the white light. Jyn herded him off to bed more than once, forced to steal his laptop on two occasions where the bags under his eyes had been particularly deep, and his self-doubt really started to creep in. She never looked, though. Not without his permission.

While Bodhi’s file was full of a half dozen files, labelled meticulously by media type then date, Baze and Chirrut’s were still in progress. They wouldn’t meet them for another three months.

“Hold on,” she said, as she found the file that said ERSO-JYN. It took the most disk space by far; he’d been working on it for nearly a year before he found her. “Wait a second, what’s this?”

Cassian looked suddenly panicked, but he didn’t try to stop her.

Jyn selected the folder of her music, and found it organized further by year. She picked one at random, and realized it was from the year after The Partisans. The files were sparse, but she picked her favourite; a stripped down version of the first song she wrote after being abandoned by The Partisans, _Don’t Look Up_. The only version like this that she knew of was a YouTube video that Bodhi had posted, zoomed in on her hands as she sang without any instruments, high and clear and full of the anger she’d carried with her for years. Cassian must’ve ripped it straight from the video, because she recognized the dialogue at the end, her voice asking if Bodhi was recording.

She’d sung along starting with the chorus, piling her voice on top of her grieving, angry one, the new take more hopeful than the last. With every line, Cassian’s shoulders softened a little, nervousness draining from him.

Bodhi had been working at a chain coffee shop since he’d cut ties with Empire Records, but by the time Jyn and Cassian reached it, the place was dead, the evening rush over. Jyn slid up to the counter while Cassian picked a seat, a curated move to set Bodhi at ease.

“Hey,” she said when he approached the register. “You good to talk?” Bodhi was still blinking with surprise and stepped around the counter to hug her before he replied.

“Of course,” Bodhi said, glancing down at her hand. She didn’t really get why, until he looked back at Cassian. “You have to buy something, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jyn glanced back at Cassian, then at Bodhi, “We’re not…”

Bodhi looked back at Cassian, watching them with his mouth against his fisted hands. He smiled when he saw them look. “Yeah, alright,” Bodhi said. He moved behind the till, “What can I get you?”

Jyn slid into the booth next to Cassian after she placed their order, shoulder knocking into his as she moved her elbow to lean on the table. Bodhi made their drinks and brought them out after exchanging a few words with his co worker, who barely looked up from her phone to respond.

Bodhi sat in the chair across from them, tipping to the left as the chair’s uneven legs swayed. He set their drinks down and smiled nervously, “Are you here to tell me about the Avengers Initiative?”

Cassian smiled and introduced himself while Jyn sat back and sipped her hazelnut coffee. She’d done her piece; it was Cassian’s turn. From her place, Jyn had to admit: it was a good turn. Cassian gave Bodhi a similar schtick that he gave Jyn, but it was more organized and less… intense, for lack of a better word. What he said didn’t get her heart racing, but it did get Bodhi smiling.

“Why me?” Bodhi asked, looking suspiciously at Jyn, like she’d asked Cassian to do all this. She shook her head.

“Cassian picks the team,” Jyn said, “I’m just the muscle.”

“I heard your demo,” Cassian said, “The one you sent in to The Partisans’ label. That made me look into Empire, and I found the mixtape you submitted when you were sixteen. It was incredible, and if it’s any indication of what you can do…”

Bodhi smiled a little nervously, picking at his cuticles. “I thought Empire was still holding that mixtape hostage?”

“They are,” Jyn said, smiling, “You should ask Andor about his unsavoury internet habits.”

Cassian ignored her, “ _We_ heard it. And I was floored by it. Jyn only had glowing things to say about you, when I brought your name up. We drove all day to meet you.”

Bodhi smiled twitchily, “I doubt anything Jyn could say would _glow_.” She kicked his shin under the table, making him laugh. “But sure. Why not try? I’ve even got an idea for the name. What do you think of Rogue One?”

///

“It sounds to me like you’re the reason we’re all here today, Cassian,” Holdo said, “But you brought a lot of conflicting influences in – I mean, two former Broadway stars, one that favours indie acoustic and the other alternative. Then there’s Jyn’s punky-rock, and Bodhi’s socially-aware rap and bass work. Then there’s Baze and Chirrut, whose influence is… everywhere, and indescribable, in all honesty.” Holdo smirked, pink hair swinging. “I guess what I’m asking is what the hell you were thinking?”

Even Jyn turned her lips up at that, Kay nodding along so quickly he had to shove up his glasses. Kay asked Cassian that exact question about Jyn at _least_ thirty times after they all moved in together. Jyn herself had asked Cassian the same thing every time he tossed her the aux cord and told her where they were going next.

But Cassian proved to have an ear for harmony. He was no stranger to mixing up styles, either. He started on Broadway, but he also released a Latin album in his early twenties, which had garnered a small, devoted fanbase in Mexico. It turned out that his low voice and smooth touch was what Jyn’s grungy-spikey style needed, able to translate exactly what she meant into words. Kay’s touch made their music a little more alternative, edging into electric. Bodhi worked with Cassian on lyrics, taking his translations and turning them into raps, or finding commentaries the others had missed. Chirrut and Baze went through it all with a fine tooth comb, pushing them to be even better. The result was a kind of rocky-indie vibe, upbeat but poignant. It was the kind of music for starting revolutions, or burning down empires.

“It’s about finding a harmony,” Cassian told Holdo, looking at Jyn. “Finding people you can work well off of. It doesn’t matter how different it all looks; what matters is how it makes you feel.” Jyn smiled a little, holding his look for a beat longer before turning back to Holdo. Cassian’s foot was a steady, happy weight against hers.

“You heard it here first, folks,” Holdo said, smiling wide. “The secret to success isn’t about the music you make on your own, but the music you make together. Let’s take a break, with the cover that put Cassian Andor on the map. But you’ll have to _Wait for It_ , because first, the single that launched Rogue One to fame. This is _Hope._ ”

Holdo pushed her microphone back as Jyn’s drums exploded over the speakers. A blonde assistant came in, headphones around her neck. “Can I get you all anything?”

Bodhi asked for water and the girl nodded and disappeared. Holdo stood.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, pink dress swishing as she left the room.  

Jyn drifted her chair to face Cassian’s, leaning her head on the back of the chair. He looked at her, “How’re you doing?”

“She’s good at this.”

Cassian smiled. “So are we.”

Just then, their song ended, fading into Cassian’s take on _Wait for It._ She remembered when it first came out, dominating every radio station and Spotify playlist Jyn flicked on. He’d only served as an understudy for Burr’s part, and only for a short period, before he decided to pursue Rogue One. But that song got to him in a way that few did; Jyn often caught him humming it, while he prepared dinner or did his laundry. One of her favourite games was to try to pick up where he was in the song and sing along, startling him. He would flush with embarrassment, tipping his face down to his toes and looking up at her through his bangs. It might’ve been her favourite look on him.

Holdo glided back in for the back half of the last verse, settling down just in time for the end of the song. “That was Rogue One and Cassian Andor, with the songs _Hope_ and _Wait for It_. It’s time for the fan question portion of our interview, and Anne has been waiting patiently on the line.” Holdo flicked a switch, “Anne, you’re on air with Rogue One.”

The fan question period was the one Jyn had been looking forward to least, but Holdo had promised lowballs, and they seemed to be getting them. Anne asked about the inspiration behind _Hope_ – it had always been something Cassian had relied on, and he wanted to pay tribute to that. The next caller asked about their greatest influences, a number that bumped all over the map, depending on the person. The next wanted to know how they knew Leia – her and Cassian’s agencies fell under the same umbrella, and Jyn met her a couple times through Saw. Questions from Instagram and Twitter were even easier, having been pre-screened by the band: they asked about what they did to unwind, their favourite musicals, and their favourite foods.

“Cassian makes these chilaquiles,” Jyn said, and all of Rogue One, sans Cassian, moaned at the thought. “He makes a homemade salsa for them, and it’s really, really good.”

“I’m changing my answer,” Bodhi said, “I say the chilaquiles too. It’s like eating little forkfuls of heaven.”

Holdo laughed, “You’ll have to pass on the recipe.”

“Ah, it’s an old family recipe,” Cassian said apologetically, “But perhaps if music does not work out, cooking is something I could pursue.”

Holdo shook her head with a twinkling smile after the laughter had swelled down, “Last question. This one is from Mars Bars on Instagram. Your fame has shot you into the spotlights, and hearts, of the world, and I’m sure listeners are wondering: is there hope? Is there room in your hearts for someone, or is that space taken?”

Holdo’s eyes landed on Cassian, apparently understanding that he was taking the lead on the interview. He laughed a little awkwardly and didn’t look at Jyn. “I’m not sure any of us have the time for social lives, let alone love lives.”

Jyn leaned forward, voluntarily speaking for the first time. “Before this, I hadn’t seen someone who wasn’t in Rogue One for about a week.”

“Well I, for one, am looking,” Chirrut said. Baze paused his knitting for the first time in the interview, glaring at him. Chirrut must’ve heard the absence of his clicking knitting needles, because he laughed. “Kidding! I am very devoted to my husband.”

Baze nodded once, returning to the sweater he was making for Bodhi. “Not married,” he said.

“Alright, alright,” Holdo said, “I know a closed topic when I see one. I want to extend a thanks to our guests Rogue One. Their album is out now, called _The Plans_. I leave you with their latest single, _I Rebel_.”

They all stood up, awkwardly shuffling to shake hands with Holdo before they left. Jyn went last, intent on shaking and bolting, but Holdo held her hand a beat longer than the others, her free hand closing it on the other side too.

“I want to apologize about the leading questions, about you know who,” Holdo said lowly, “That was the station’s idea. Not mine.”

Jyn nodded, “Sure.” She would’ve rather Holdo have just dropped it.

“Jyn?” Baze had paused in the doorway and was looking suspiciously at Holdo. Jyn took her hand back and walked past Baze out the door.

///

Jyn wouldn’t describe herself as dramatic. She was strong-minded. She was stubborn. She didn’t waste words, but she wasn’t afraid of confrontation, either. Jyn wasn’t dramatic, but she was a lot of other things, and that didn’t mean she didn’t do dramatic things.

Despite her personality, Jyn grew up on a peaceful farm in Britain. They had two sheep and a little herd of goats and a lot of chickens. It had been Jyn’s job to go and collect the eggs every morning in a little green bucket. They had a huge grassy terrain and a little lake, where Jyn used to wade all the way up to her chin in the summers. Jyn had never been happier than when she traversed those fields in her ladybug rubber boots, swinging the green bucket. It became a solace from school, where she was a bit of a loner, and as she got older, prone to fighting. But that solace was stolen away by the man in white.

Jyn knew him, vaguely, from some photos in their living room. His name was Orson Krennic, and he knew her mother and father from university, but Lyra and Krennic had some kind of falling out that cut him off from them for years. But then he was back, and he wanted to pull Galen from retirement to return to music, all the way in the United States. And Galen wanted to go.

The following months were a cacophony of arguments, and Jyn came home with bloody knuckles every day, not that anyone noticed. Galen was too busy yelling about their dwindling funds, how the farm was going to fail, and the bank was at their heels. Lyra was shouting solutions that didn’t bring them across the world: she could rejoin the orchestra, they could freelance song write, Galen could return to his position at the University, or, as a last resort, work for Empire from Britain. But Galen had his mind stuck on the idea. It wasn’t just the money. He missed when his life had been more than the farming he hated.

The foreclosure notice appeared, and Lyra and Galen were forced into a détente. Galen would go to Krennic, and Lyra and Jyn would stay back with Lyra’s parents until Jyn finished the school year. Then they would join him in the United States. Jyn, whose voice had been drowned out in their screaming, made her own plans.

Jyn loved the farm, but even at fourteen, she knew she would have to leave it. That gave her two options: get dragged to the Empire, or leave on her own terms. She had options; Lyra kept Saw’s address scrawled in their contacts book.

Jyn left _London Calling_ playing on a loop, so they would know where she went.

///

Rogue One was as co dependent as they could get. Jyn moved in with Kay and Cassian six months before they found Bodhi, Baze, and Chirrut, who bumped up their income to afford a slanted, shitty house in a Los Angeles suburb. The only thing that had changed since was their income level, which enabled them to move into a much more comfortable home just outside of L.A., with enough rooms for all of them, a kitchen that wasn’t also a living room, _and_ a pool.

They built a studio in their basement within months of moving in, with a couple different booths and a huge, open space for their instruments. Jyn had three different drums sets down there, along with an entire wall of Cassian and Bodhi’s guitars and basses. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as some homes of music stars out there – Leia Organa was said to live in a _palace_ of modern architecture, and Han Solo boasted some weird round, space-inspired design that he’d _named_ – but it was lavish, and probably too much room for them.

Jyn slid out of sleep peacefully, a new beat strumming in her head. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the room, mindful of the others on the floor. Her care ended as she hit the stairs, crashing down them in her sprint for the studio, desperately singing under her breath so as not to lose the song. She didn’t stop until she had her sticks in her hands, an acoustic guitar chosen at random digging into her stomach as she leaned forward, drumming the tune out. It hadn’t sounded right on the guitar, so she’d slipped behind her drums without shucking it. There was a music stand to her side, where she could pick up her pencil and add notes as they came to her.

Cassian had written two words on the white board immediately after they installed it. It was something he’d been tossing around for a while, and he wanted her opinion on it, or notes, if she had them. Jyn had put a box around the words as soon as she’d seen them, and it remained as other lyrics came and went. _Welcome home_. The words were too important; she couldn’t find anything good enough for them. She thought maybe the tune from her dream had been it, but now that she was properly awake, it didn’t sound right.

Jyn filled four pages with notes, writing and rewriting, by the time Cassian came down, scratching out sections of notes as she rejected them. His hair was flat on one side and spiky on the other, his shirt askew and his sleep pants riding low on his hips. Jyn shoved her pencil in her hair and twirled her drumsticks absently when she saw him.

“What are you working on?” Cassian asked, voice a little rough from sleep. She wondered if it was early but dismissed the possibility. Cassian was always fully dressed when he went down to the studio to start his day. He couldn’t have heard her in the studio, either, as it was soundproofed. Maybe he heard her leave her room; he was right next door.  

“Nothing,” she said, “It sounded better in my head.”

Cassian nodded, rounding her drums to squint at her notes. He ran his finger along the only line she hadn’t crossed out, nodding along. “Keep this. I think I could do something with it.” His finger mimicked the rhythm, almost unconsciously, against the paper. Then he turned to her, taking in her messy bun and tired eyes.

“Are you packed?” He asked.

Shit. “What time do we leave again?” Somehow, the tour still felt kilometers away, even though it was the second leg they were about to start. Their three week break was coming to an end, and they were to return to the road for another few months. It felt too good to be true.

Cassian chuckled, “Eight. You have six hours. But you should also get some sleep in that time.” Jyn nodded, eyes fixed on the music sheets.

“C’mon, Jyn,” he said, taking the sticks carefully from her hands and setting them on the music stand. “This will still be here in the morning.”

He tugged her to her feet and she padded after him, fingers still tangled gently.

///

Holdo was right: Jyn had a very musical upbringing, between her music producer fathers and pianist mother. Lyra had sat her at the piano when she was just two, and Jyn learned English and music in tandem, bilingual by the time she was four. Not much changed after that.

Lyra met Galen when he was producing an album for composer Padme Amidala, and Lyra was the head pianist. They fell in love in the studio, where Amidala’s piano-heavy melodies kept Lyra and Galen in the studio for hours. They married and had a daughter, and it was all very fairy tale until Krennic drifted back into Galen’s life. Krennic had graduated with Galen, and they produced independently for a while, before Galen met Lyra and Krennic met Palpatine, the CEO of Empire Records.

After Jyn ran to Saw, she found herself folded into The Partisans band. It was perfect timing for her; Saw’s drummer had quit the night before, and they had studio time booked that they couldn’t waste. She became one of the most constant members, its revolving door part of the reason for its mild success, earning them places in smaller, more intimate venues, but never anything close to a stadium. She thought she was immune to the door, somehow, especially after she moved to the States with them when she was sixteen. That was how Jyn ended up with The Partisans for four years, zapped up into the band as quickly as she was kicked out.

///

There was nothing like the high after a performance, except maybe the high that came _during_ the performance. Just before the last songs, Jyn would hit a gale of energy that she would ride into the wee hours of the morning, hands shaking with it.

After their next performance, Jyn piled into their tour bus with the rest of Rogue One, smiling so hard it hurt. Bodhi wouldn’t stop dancing around, and even Kay looked pleased. Baze and Chirrut watched their hotwired troupe explode on the bus, having boarded once they started their encores, which weren’t really encores. Instead, Cassian always stood at the front of the stage with time enough for four more songs, if they skipped the cheesy leave the stage/ listen to applause/ get back on stage for more applause thing. Cramming an extra song into their performance was usually enough of a selling point, but Cassian always explained it so charmingly that the whole audience felt like they were part of the decision for them to play more.

Jyn rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the energy that was running so high that it was edging towards anxiety. The high would turn into something else, her heart pattering hard and refusing to slow. Chirrut had taught her to keep a routine after every concert, to train her body into relaxing at certain cues. She took his advice, and traced the same groove she’d worn into the bus floor since he’d made the suggestion.

She put the kettle on (electric, her mother would faint at the disgrace) then stopped at the freezer, plucking out a blue icepack. She forced her hands to move slowly as she wrapped it carefully in a towel, trying to control the shake in her fingers as she turned around and walked over to Cassian.

“Thank you, Jyn,” he said, and Jyn was already smiling, but it softened a little for him. She turned around prepare the tea at the kitchenette. Decaffeinated black for her and Cassian, green for Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze, redbush for Kay. She added honey and lemon to the singers’ teas (herself, Bodhi, and Cassian) to ease the strain on their throats.

Lyra used to do this. When she was angry, or upset, or overwhelmed, or just needed to clear her head, she would make a cup of tea. She did it when she found out Jyn got in a fight at school, knocking the lights out of an older boy that harassed her. She did it when the bills began to pile up, faster and more expensive than they’d thought, because the Ersos were terrible farmers. She did it after every fight with Galen. Even if she didn’t drink it, Lyra would go and make a cup of tea. It would steady her hands and clear her head. When Chirrut suggested establishing a habit, it was the first thing she thought of.

Lyra had a very meticulous system. The kettle always went first. It took four minutes to boil, giving her the time to gather the rest. Distribute the tea into mugs, slice the lemon into circles, not wedges. Add two slices on top of the tea bag, which should always sit in the bottom. Then the honey, drizzled over the lemon. Last came the water, poured through the honey and lemon before it reached the tea. Stir three times, clockwise, counter clockwise, clockwise. Serve.

Jyn brought Chirrut’s over first, touching his shoulder then guiding his outstretched hand to the handle. He took a tentative sip and smiled, “Exactly what I needed. Thank you, Jyn.”

As she moved, distributing the rest of the tea, she edged away from so exhilarated she could hardly breathe, to so happy that she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. The balloon in her chest was staying put, not inching to choke her in her throat, like it used to. She tried not to think about it, however. In her experience, worrying about getting too worked up only made it happen faster.

Jyn finished with the tea then took her place beside Cassian at the table, setting her cup to cool in front of her. She moved her arms out of her lap so that Cassian could gingerly lift his leg, then drape it across her legs, so his knee rested right over the line between her thighs. She took the ice from him, setting it carefully down just above his knee, and checking his face to make sure he was alright.

He’d cracked his femur in the most anti-rock-n-roll way possible when he was sixteen, and it always flared up after shows. His back was poor, too, but not as bad as his leg, only needing a heat pad occasionally when he slept. But that was what you got for getting groceries while wearing Crocs in icy New York.

His leg should’ve been an unnerving weight, making her feel trapped, and triggering the flight instinct that had beat just under the surface since she was a child. But his leg was just as warm as the rest of him, and it was a comfort, instead of a weight. It was a mainstay, her own personal gravity, to keep her from buzzing so high that she couldn’t breathe. She focused on the ice under her fingers, keeping track of her breathing. The warm joy that spread through her didn’t burn, but was comfortable, like that of Cassian’s heating pad, in the handful of times they’d slept beside one another and he had needed it.

She checked her watch. The ice should be on for no longer than fifteen minutes at a time, to protect the skin, even through the towel and his pants. Her own pulse was slowing to something manageable; she still felt light as air, and _happy_ , but it wasn’t edging towards uncontrollable anymore. It was the same kind of happiness she remembered from stomping across the farm’s grass, pail in hand, and not the nervous elation that arose from Saw answering his door.

Bodhi procured a stack of pizzas and dropped them on the table, handing slices to her and Cassian, who couldn’t reach the boxes from their position. Jyn was famished, calories burned by drumming and the few songs she switched off with Kay or Bodhi to sing up front with Cassian. It was probably also an affect of being too happy, giddiness burning up her body’s energy. The pizza was perfect, greasy enough that she had to fold it in half to avoid letting it drip all over her lap, the sauce hot enough to scorch the roof of her mouth.

She looked up just in time to see the distant flash of cameras through the windows. She returned her eyes to her pizza, trying to focus on the little pool of grease instead, trying to distract herself. The balloon in her chest inflated a little, edging towards her larynx. They couldn’t see inside, she reminded herself, even with some kind of military-grade flash. It had been Jyn’s one stipulation when they were picking out the bus; so long as they had extra dark tinted windows, Kay and Bodhi could go wild, pouring over the engines and spitting jargon Jyn didn’t try to understand.

“Thank you, Jyn, this is delicious,” Cassian said, his voice a little hoarse from all the singing. Jyn tore her eyes from the window to see him holding up his mug, smiling a little.

“Of course, yeah,” Jyn said, reaching for her own tea with her free hand. She took a sip, letting the taste steady her, shutting her eyes. The tea-pizza combination was probably strange for the others, but Jyn was British. Anything she _didn’t_ drink tea with was odd. She felt the bus engine rumble to life and her shoulders sunk in relief as they drove away, opening her eyes to see the photographers getting left behind.

Jyn set her mug down carefully, checking the time and shifting the ice. They were going to drive for a few hours, then they’d crash in a hotel until morning, and finish the drive to the next tour stop in the morning. Maybe she would try to get a few hours of sleep before they reached the hotel.

More likely, she would do this: settle back into her chair and listen to Bodhi enthusiastically reiterate their entire performance, jumping between all of them. Kay was spouting statistics about their timing, Baze was snoozing lightly, and Chirrut was smiling as he nodded along to Bodhi. Cassian’s hand had moved to take over the ice from her, but she hadn’t moved her hand, so they sat together, hands half-curled around one another. Jyn’s heart slowed to a manageable pace but her happiness didn’t dim, feeling warm and at peace. She wanted to capture that feeling in a bottle, or maybe a song.

///

A couple weeks into their tour, they had a few days between shows, and the city had a studio they could rent by the hour. She headed there with Bodhi one day, picking at some music sheets she’d written with his bass, but nothing quite fit the words on their whiteboard back home. At this rate, she would write a whole damn album before she reached this song.

///

Part of being a rock star meant that the performing members of Rogue One were offered advisors for _everything_ – social media, security, legal protection. Of the trailing list of advisors that Rebel Records offered, one of the ones Rogue One took them up on were stylists, whose entire jobs were to make sure their hair, makeup, and clothes fit their ‘personas’. Jyn only stomached it because she was utterly useless when it came to clothing – until they hired the stylist, Jyn only owned two pairs of pants and three shirts. Their stylist took one look into her closet only to shut it quickly, shaking her head with her eyes tightly shut. She looked wanting for holy water.

There were a couple racks set out for each of them, labelled with their names but not really in need of them. Jyn’s racks were obviously hers, because they were the ones that were almost entirely black, with a few cool blues and greys. Kay’s were full of the ten copies of the same three button downs and dress pants. Bodhi’s were the most daring, and their stylist obviously had the most fun with him, his racks bursting to the brim; they were filled with colour and modern fashions that Jyn could never pull off. Cassian’s was a mixture of henleys and button downs, not as stiff as Kay’s, but the kind he would roll up to his elbows, and he wouldn’t realize the way it caught Jyn’s breath, just a little.

Jyn poked through her rack first, finding a few appropriately _Jyn_ items – a grey-blue scarf, black jeans with rips in the knees, a couple plain tank tops that would be good for layering, but were also thick enough they didn’t show her bra. She rejected the rest, because she didn’t _need_ any more clothing, she had an entire _closet_ full. Bodhi didn’t seem to have that problem, having rolled one of his racks to the changeroom. He would probably take all of it home, if only to spare the stylist’s feelings. Jyn had no such worry; she didn’t think the stylist was going to be upset that she didn’t take the red pants with weird lines all over them, the stylist’s attempt to make Jyn branch out.

Jyn moved through Cassian’s rack next, running her fingers over the materials. There was a soft army green button down on the rack that would be the perfect thing to layer over her new tank tops. She slid it over her shoulders then glanced at herself in the mirror.

“I don’t think that’s yours,” Cassian said, and Jyn turned around to see him watching her through a mirror, his expression amused. _He_ was the one that looked ridiculous, wearing one of those massive black capes while a woman trimmed his hair carefully. Jyn wandered around the clothing rack, keeping the shirt on.

“You gonna stop me?” Jyn asked, and Cassian’s smiled got a little sharper, sending a wave of heat through her stomach.

“Maybe.”

Jyn curled her toes in her shoes but returned his challenging look. “I’d like to see you try. Especially with that cape you’re sporting, GQ.”

The hairstylist finished in that moment, stepping away just then. Jyn rocked back on her heels as Cassian reached for the snap collar of his cape, smiling when he got out of the chair and started purposefully towards her.

///

Jyn’s worst fault, aside from the swearing and the temper and the tendency to run first and think later, was her love of reality shows. They were ridiculous and awful and usually subjugated women, but – Jyn couldn’t get enough. And if a woman was dumb enough to sign up for _The Bachelor_ , then it wasn’t entirely the show’s fault.

It was only once they released their EP and started touring as an opening act for Leia Organa that Jyn realized she wasn’t the only one with this problem.

“What’d I miss?” She asked, dropping beside Kay on the bed in his hotel room, shoes abandoned at the door, as was his rule. She tossed one of his weird protein drinks in his lap, snagged from the vending machine in the lobby, and popped the tab on the can of her pop.

“Only the introductory theme and recapitulation of the previous season,” Kay said. “And they have introduced the bachelor. He is a white race car driver that also owns a blog.”

“Nice,” Jyn said. All that toxic masculinity rolled into a house of women plied with alcohol and rumors. It would be a messy one.

 “He has previously been on another season, with a Bachelorette named Emily,” Kay informed her and Jyn cackled. “He has stated that while she never told him verbally, she used her body language to tell him that she loved him.”

“And how messy was the breakup?”

“Exceptionally,” Kay replied, and Jyn settled happily back into the pillows. “He continued a journal of his experiences on _The Bachelorette_ and flew to her home after filming to leave it upon her doorstep. She did not read it.”

 _Yikes._ The show returned, plugging the happiness of one of previous season’s success stories. They groaned as the host, who they both hated passionately, kept detailing how the newest Bachelor was the _best kisser on the show’s history_.

“These women all deserve better,” Kay said. Jyn held out her coke for him to tap. For all the shit they gave each other, they sure got along when no one else was around.

///

Touring with Rogue One was very, very different from Jyn’s time with The Partisans. For one, The Partisans weren’t popular enough to fill venues larger than small music halls or bars with sturdy stages. They also lived in a shitty old VW, where they took turns sleeping on the front bench seat and the hard metal floor, nothing like the tour bus or string of hotels provided for Rogue One. Jyn’s life with The Partisans largely consisted of being paid in beer (or pop, if they found out how old she was), eating jerky for breakfast, sleeping on the floor, and washing her underwear in the sink.

She almost felt coddled by the comforts that came with Rogue One: the regular, comfortable beds, the meals that were actual _food_ , the provided clothing, the endless supply of maintenance kits for her instruments. They even had _stage hands_ , who did all the grunt work that used to occupy Jyn from noon until their shows at ten, which included setting up the stage, taking care of their instruments, and making sure the show ran smoothly. In The Partisans, that last job’s solution was usually to leap off the stage and challenge anyone who had anything to say. Jyn had been banned from exactly twelve bars for this reason.

Sometimes, when Jyn caught her breath, she wondered what The Partisans were up to. They’d essentially raised her, taking the snot-nosed runaway that showed up on Saw’s doorway and helping her grow into the hard-headed little punk she was today. They helped her through her first heartbreak, encouraged her to call home but also knew when to leave it, and let her parents taste a bit of the consequence for their actions.

Saw had always pushed her. He never let up on her, never let her stop playing the circus of instruments she knew, even when she started to gravitate towards the drums. Saw used to bark that _it was always better to be a jack, than a master_ , and yell at her to pick up the damn violin again, even though exactly none of The Partisans songs used one. With Saw, Jyn had played until her fingers literally bled, but she was grateful for it.

Saw had always pushed her. Working her that hard was a blessing, because while the other Partisans were off getting in trouble, she was stuck behind a music stand, playing a piece over and over again until Saw was satisfied. He never _stopped_ pushing her, and it took her a long time to realize it, but leaving her was something that he saw as best for her, if it was still a shitty thing to do. Two weeks before, she recorded her first solo song and played it for him. She wanted his opinion on it. But when she played it, Saw was frozen, listening closely.

“Don’t change anything,” he’d snapped, and it took her a long time to untangle the defensive anger with the sadness in his voice. It took her a long time to puzzle out what it meant, but she ending up having it.

She woke up in her hotel room two weeks later (it should’ve been the first red flag, that Saw shacked them up in a hotel _and_ gave her her own room), only to find the VW was gone. The front desk told her that they’d checked out a few hours after midnight.

Jyn thought it had to be a mistake. She waited for three days, before the hotel came to kick her out. She found a cell phone that Saw must’ve slipped into her backpack as she left, and found the message he left. The Partisans were headed in a “new direction” that didn’t include her.

She ended up in the bar across the street, only eighteen but good at convincing people that she was older. She managed to swing a job polishing glasses and enabling drunks. That was where Cassian found her a year later, angrier and more raw than she’d ever been.

Saw was a complicated figure in her life. She could recite the phone call by memory, complete with the inflections of Saw’s voice, and the background noise of traffic. But she also remembered the way two parenting books found their clumsy way into the van before being abandoned, and she also remembered how he taught her how to write a real song, and she also remembered that what he said when he told her to scram was a lie. It wasn’t a coincidence that Jyn was dumped just weeks after Saw heard her song, or that people who knew her name kept showing up in the bar to check on her.

Jyn checked up on The Partisans a couple times, googling their name on her phone (because she actually _had_ one with _internet_ now). They seemed to be doing the same thing that she had, steadily pushing out albums and filling enough seats to keep them on the road. They were gaining traction, their venues getting steadily larger, their albums getting to more and more people since their Spotify deal.

There was a better was to get information on them, nestled deeply in her contacts, but Jyn wasn’t ready for that yet.

///

Performing a concert was an adrenaline rush, like being shot with a needle full of _life_ , leaving Jyn flying high. If the world ended then and there, she could survive, with that kind of power. It made up for every helpless moment of her life, erased the day she snapped and ran to London, smoothed over the voicemail she’d sat and listened to over and over again, _the band is going in another direction_ , and the implicit _we don’t want you here anymore_. When she performed, it drowned out the mantra that had beat into her heart at fourteen: _run before they run from you_.

Performing gave her a chance to reclaim the agency she lost in those moments, to stand tall even when she thought of her parents – all _three_ of them. It made her feel powerful. Above all, it made her feel brave.

It seemed counter-intuitive, for someone who was so poor at interacting with people to be so good at standing up in front of hundreds of them to play the music that bared her very heart. That was probably why she gravitated towards the drums when she first started out. Part of it was filling a gap, but there was also safety in her drums. She could play the drums and guitar equally well, and her voice wasn’t half bad, but she settled on the drums because they set her in the back, mostly hidden from view behind her huge set. Playing the drums hid her body, didn’t require her to dance or move. All she had to do was play. She could do that.

Besides, she’d always liked the drums; they were loud and abrasive and usually the spine of a song, guiding the highs and the lows. It had always been the first thing Jyn heard in a song, peeling apart the music until all that was left was the steady back beat, fast or slow, it didn’t matter.

Rogue One inched her from that comfort zone, trading her off with Kay for his keyboards, or Bodhi for his bass. It was Kay’s idea, to get her out from behind her drums to sing _Stardust_ , and it had nearly ended with her shoe down his throat; of all the songs they sung, he wanted her to sing the one that hit her like a damn wrecking ball.

Cassian offered a solution, building a bridge for both of their comforts. They did a cover at every stop, and he asked if she wanted to join him for _Sabotage_. There was a security in it that Jyn appreciated. It wasn’t _her_ song, but it was well beloved, and there were few things that Jyn loved more than wailing _oh my god, it’s a mirage, I’m tellin’ y’all it’s sabotage_.

She grew from there. They started with the cover, then they switched up the drum arrangement on _Hope_ , to add a rollicking odaiko. Jyn would take the lead on it, going up front with Cassian while Bodhi took her chair. Then she took Leia’s parts in _Hope_ , echoing Cassian’s voice, _rebellions are built on hope_. Then she took all the vocals on the only song she and Cassian had switched on, Jyn with the lyrics and Cassian with the arrangement, _I Rebel_. They switched on and off with that one, depending on how much Cassian’s voice needed a break. She worked all the way up to _Stardust_ , until she could wander the stage freely, toss her sticks spontaneously to any member of the band, and trust _both_ of them to pick it up without pause.

Jyn learned how to be brave with her band – _all_ of them, including Baze and Chirrut in the wings. That feeling came back every time she walked out there. The lights no longer blinded her, but charged her. The mass of people didn’t intimidate her, but shot her with adrenaline. The months straight of concerts had her buzzing, instead of exhausted. Concerts lit her up like the Vegas strip, igniting her whole body until she felt like she was glowing. It didn’t make her scared, but brave.

///

The others were out getting food, but Jyn and Bodhi had elected to stay behind, shooting the shit while they waited for them to get back. Bodhi was scrolling through his phone and Jyn was picking at her music notebook, staring at the notes that still weren’t quite right.

“Han’s new single comes out today,” Bodhi reminded her, and Jyn nodded. They’d leant a hand with the lyrics a while ago, so Han had sent them the final version as soon as it was ready. It was a departure from his usual clamorous rock, with a pretty obvious new influence.

“Remind me to give him shit for that later, hey?”

“Go easy on him,” Bodhi said, smiling softly. “He’s in love.”

Jyn looked up from her notebook, raising an eyebrow, “He’s in _denial_.”

By the way Bodhi paused, Jyn knew she was about to regret what she said. His smile became a smirk, and he dropped the hand holding his phone. “Oh? You’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

Jyn held his look for a minute before returning to her music, adding a note just to look casual. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She eyed the note, then scribbled it out.

“Sure,” Bodhi said innocently, shrugging as he returned to his phone. Jyn thought she got away with it, until Bodhi asked, “How was your nap, earlier?”

Jyn didn’t dare raise her eyes to look at him. She never slept well on the bus, but she was so damn exhausted that Cassian had convinced her to lay her head on his good leg and just rest her eyes. (It wasn’t hard to convince her.) He read off his tablet as he absently smoothed her hair in a motion so soothing that Jyn didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep. She woke up when they stopped, Cassian’s hand still in her hair, one of Baze’s knitted blankets draped across her body, and Bodhi smiling purposely.

Her voice was a touch defensive. “Just _fine_.”

Bodhi hummed knowingly and Jyn didn’t like his tone, but also didn’t dare to look up. Jyn focused so hard on her notebook that she didn’t see it anymore, neck on fire. Thankfully, he dropped it there, and they lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Enough time passed for Jyn to feel safe enough to relax her shoulders, shifting back against the chair and putting the notebook on her knees, penciling a sketchy star in the margin of the page.

“Ah – Jyn?”

Jyn glanced up easier as all the teasing was gone from Bodhi’s voice. He opened his mouth, looked at his phone screen, then decided to slide it across the table to her instead. The headline said everything Jyn really needed to know, but she lifted a finger to swipe anyways, skimming the first couple paragraphs of the article.

Galen Erso was producing his first album since he’d re-entered the business in Empire Records. He didn’t sing, so there was a long list of featured artists, all with one thing in common: they were all signed on the same label, which was also infamous for being a shitty label. Empire.

She knew Galen was working for Empire Records; she’d known it since he took the job before she ran away. But know he was working for them and seeing the work he produced – an album called _The Death Star_ – those were two very different things.

Empire Records had tried to poach her when she was fifteen, when she first started touring for The Partisans. Probably at Galen’s request. Saw had intervened, and she didn’t speak for him for a week. It was one of the kindest things he’d ever done for her. Jyn saw what Empire did to Bodhi: supported his created of an EP, only to hold it hostage under a copyright claim, picking and choose what bits they wanted. There was probably a good handful of lines on _The Death Star_ that were written by Bodhi – and he could do nothing about it. Saw saved her from that fate, at best. At worst, she would still be there, imprisoned in Empire’s ideas without any creative control.

Jyn considered it for a moment, before she slid the phone back over, “Fifty bucks says it’s top single doesn’t get past top fifty.”

“I don’t know,” Bodhi said, “That’s assuming it charts at all.” Jyn grinned.

///

Jyn’s elbow knocked into Cassian’s as she took one of his onion rings, letting him take a sip of her coke in return. It was a tight fit in the booth with all six of them, but Jyn didn’t mind, used to sharing her personal space with these specific people.

Her baseball cap was pulled low over her eyes, and Cassian kept his hood up, but the others weren’t wearing any attempt at a disguise. Cassian was usually recognized most because he was the front man, and Jyn the second most, as the token girl. She kept trying to talk Leia into joining them, only half-joking, but Leia had been spending too much time with her brother (and, recently, Han Solo) to consider mounting a tour.

This diner was their reward after surviving the heat of a month on tour, with a day off between shows if they were lucky. Jyn’s body felt tired, but the rest of her was ready to jump back on the stage. Baze and Chirrut had gone to bat for this week off, however. Chirrut saying something wise-sounding about how they needed to preserve their strength, and Baze kept grumbling that he was too old for all of it. She wouldn’t fight them on it.

Jyn had every intention of finding a pool somewhere to lie beside in an inappropriate number of layers. Maybe obsess over the words she couldn’t get out of her head. Mostly, she planned on laying back with the ever-growing pile of albums she needed to listen to, and hopefully learn something.

She knew Kay would spend the time locked in his hotel room, alone, determined to take his full hundred sixty-eight away from all of them, except maybe Cassian. Bodhi had a few plans to meet friends – ones who _weren’t_ in the band, a concept that had puzzled Jyn when he first told her. Baze and Chirrut were off to celebrate an anniversary or, more likely, fondly argue over the legitimacy of said anniversary. Cassian was the only one planning to be _productive_ , having filled his week with actual _professional_ plans, meetings and other famous-adult-business.

(Some of Jyn’s plans also consisted of leaving the poolside, to bully Cassian into relaxing.)

Cassian stole a couple of her fries and Jyn peeled the bun off his burger, peering inside. She wrinkled her nose. He always put too much mustard on his burgers. Jyn picked up her chicken burger and dug into that instead, a glob of ketchup falling onto her knee. Kay sniffed as Cassian reached over.

“Can I help you?” Jyn asked Kay with a full mouth, letting Cassian get the ketchup with a napkin.

Kay sighed clunkily, like she deserved a level up from a regular sigh. “You have poor manners. All of you, but especially you, Jyn.”

Bodhi was busy swirling a fry through his milkshake, and Baze was swallowing his second burger, the first inhaled in a manner of seconds. Chirrut was happily sucking air as he tried to get the last drops of his pop, and perhaps passive-aggressively wave down the waitress. Kay, in contrast, had a napkin spread across his lap, and was eating his chicken breast with a fork and knife, poised delicately in his spidery fingers.

“Don’t worry about it, Kay,” Jyn said, reaching for another one of Cassian’s onion rings. “We’re rock stars.”

///

Jyn made it two days before she got bored of the poolside, and a little sunburnt, despite the layers. She left Bodhi and her notebook for Starbucks, then walked to a skyscraper downtown.

She took out her identification, ready to ask to be paged up, but the security guard just raised her eyebrows and held up the magazine she was reading. Oh. There she was. In the same black tank she was wearing, with three white stripes across her chest.

The flash was a little stunning when Jyn walked in, even pointed away from her. Jyn watched Cassian shift, his attention caught by the door opening. She flipped the bird and his smolder broke into a smile that made her stomach squirm.

“Let’s take a break,” the photographer called out, scattering her assistants. Cassian nodded, stepping away from the carefully orchestrated scene to meet Jyn in the middle, accepting the iced tea lemonade.

Jyn didn’t know how Cassian breathed sometimes, he kept so stubbornly busy. He texted her his schedule after they ate at the diner, with the message _just in case_. He probably meant _just in case you need to find me for something band related,_ not _just in case you get bored and decide to show up and make everyone’s job harder_. But. There she was.

“What’s all this for?” Jyn asked, tilting her head to the set. Cassian glanced back, looking through her eyes.

He turned back to face her, “It’s for this magazine in Mexico. _La Estrella_. They gave me my first interview after my album was released.”

Jyn nodded slowly, looking at the set again before returning her eyes to him. “You done the interview yet?” Cassian nodded as he drank. “Ask you anything interesting?”

Cassian nodded again, drifting a little closer. “They’re asking a lot about you, actually. They want to know about the mysterious drummer of Rogue One.”

Jyn grinned, looking up at him, “They’ve got good taste.”

After a beat, she realized how close they were, and looked down at her drink, fiddling with the straw. Panic started to beat up in her throat, old instinct making its familiar way. She pushed back against it, looking up again. This was _Cassian_ – she knew him. She didn’t have anything to be concerned about.

“Take Friday off,” she told him, “Han’s throwing a party in town for his single, and we’re all invited.” That panicky, flighty part of her immediately scolded herself for the invitation – too obvious, it left her vulnerable, get out of there – but Jyn crushed those thoughts under her boot, staring at Cassian.

Cassian didn’t question why she wanted to go – she hated parties, and was usually very vocal about that fact. But Han had a big place, and Jyn felt like drinking. She felt brave, too, the after affect of spending so much time on stage.

“Okay,” Cassian said, smiling in a way that had her shoulders relaxing from around her ears. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Good,” Jyn said, sounding more confidently than she’d felt. She swirled her straw through her cup, so the ice clicked together.  “You deserve a break.”

Cassian did his weird half-exhale, half-chuckle thing, which meant he was amused. It was something that only came out when he was being the Cassian _she_ knew, the one who slept on a couch for almost a year so she could have a scrap of space. It was a different version of Cassian than when he was doing band stuff, when he was Cassian Andor, Rock Star. Jyn hoarded his version of him greedily. She liked him like this; a little quieter. A little looser.

“What?” Jyn dared ask. Cassian looked pointedly at the messenger bag over her shoulder.

“Your notebook wouldn’t happen to be in there?”

Jyn bit down on the first reply that came to her, and said, “Shut up.”

Cassian rewarded her with a sunny smile, then pointed at her drink, “What’s that? Not your usual.”

Jyn tilted it towards him and he accepted her offering, taking a sip. “Blackberry. It’s some special.”

“It’s good,” Cassian replied, nodding.

“Ready to get back to it, Cassian?” The photographer called from her chair and Cassian nodded, turning back to Jyn quickly.

“Thanks for this,” he shook his drink, then paused. “Actually, I should be done here soon.” Jyn nodded, answering his question before he asked it.

“I’ll wait.” He squeezed her arm and handed his drink over, then strode back to the camera, where a makeup artist touched up his makeup before letting his pass. Jyn found a chair that said _ANDOR_ on it and settled in, taking out her notebook. The notes she wrote felt a little closer, but still not quite right.

///

Han Solo was not one to half-ass things; when he devoted himself, he was all in. Take his ridiculous space-y mansion, or the single-minded devotion to his ancient instruments, most of which were held together by tape. It was like Bodhi’s reverence for his headphones on crack.

Han Solo did not half-ass things, and his party was a reflection of that. The place was packed with everyone from Luke Skywalker to Leia Organa to Artoo, the techno producer, and even Mon Mothma, the director of Rebel Records. Jyn kept running into people she recognized – and recognized _her_ , which was still a surprise.

The party’s guest list wasn’t the only impressive thing about it. Han had the weirdest futuristic chandeliers, endless tables of catering, and a beer fountain installed in the middle of the living room, next to a second rented fountain that looked like the wine Leia was drinking. All the furniture had been shoved back to line the walls, and music was coming from _somewhere_ – Jyn couldn’t see speakers, but she thought she could see metal mesh lining the walls that might’ve marked a built-in sound system, but she couldn’t get close enough to see for sure.

Bodhi immediately gravitated away from them, making a beeline for Luke Skywalker, an upbeat pop artist relatively new to the scene. They met him through Leia, who was partially responsible for his big break, just like them. Leia had passed on Bodhi’s number to Luke when her brother was having some trouble with the bassline for his album. Though it’d long since been released, Jyn still caught his name lighting up Bodhi’s phone. She hadn’t forgotten his gentle teasing on the bus; she was waiting for something more substantial to get him back.

Kay had immediately been sucked into an argument with Artoo and Threepio, and so Jyn and Cassian had continued forward alone, getting drinks and occupying a corner until Leia approached them. She hugged each of them, balancing her wine expertly to avoid spilling.

“Hearing you were coming was the only reason I agreed to,” Leia told them, smiling as she pulled away. Leia was the kind of woman who was confident enough to wear an entirely white ensemble to a _Han Solo_ party, which were known for devolving into ragers. Jyn had every intention of slipping away before that happened.

Leia was a bubblegum pop princess who cited influences like Dua Lipa and Lorde, and she dressed like it, with complicated braids, spotless lipstick, and a perfect manicure.

Jyn smiled a little, “Was it?” It might’ve been a believable statement, if Jyn hadn’t heard her yell it at four different people already.

Leia straightened her shoulders and enunciated, “If you think there’s _any_ other reason that I would go to a party hosted by this _scoundrel_ – “

It sounded very much like a speech she’d prepared, if only to convince herself. Cassian touched the small of Jyn’s back – _don’t egg her on_.

“Sure thing,” Jyn said, as sarcastic as she could manage without fear of being drawn back into the rant. She only spoke once Leia had paused to take a breath, eagerly cutting her off. “Hey, I need more beer.”

“Me too,” Cassian said, nodding at Leia. “See you around.” Then Cassian’s hand was gently guiding her forward and she waved as they left. Leia didn’t seem to notice; she’d caught sight of Han, standing on a table, and eagerly stomped off to accost him.

They wandered back to the living room, squeezing through the halls made narrow by masses of people. But when they emerged into the living room they found it was even more packed than before, filled wall to wall with people. Cassian’s hand pressed a bit more firmly into her back, taking her cup, which _was_ empty.

“I’m going outside,” she called, and before she lost sight of him, he nodded. Jyn stepped quickly through the crowd, ducking arms and slipping past party-goers to step through the sliding glass door, shoving it shut again after her.

The cold air was like ice water on a burn, an immediate relief after the stuffy heat of Han’s house. Jyn paused for a moment with her hand on the door handle, taking a deep breath in. There was a clear blue pool cut out in the middle of the stone deck and a set of stairs down to an expanse of grass. Jyn walked over to the edge of the deck, leaning her elbows against the railing. She felt a hundred times better out there; why the hell had _she_ told Cassian to come to the party again? She should’ve just told him to stay in and hang out with her. It probably would’ve been enough to sway him.

She heard the door slide open and glanced behind her, expecting to see Cassian, but getting Han instead. He was wearing a leather jacket, but Jyn was fairly certain the stupid fashion choice wasn’t responsible for his flushed face. It probably had more to deal with the white-clad spitfire inside, whose shrill voice was audible from any room at the decibel she was using. Jyn didn’t give him shit for it, however, watching him come to stand beside her.

“Erso,” he leaned an elbow against the railing beside her. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

Jyn rolled her eyes, turning back to face the landscape. She regretted her charity. “Cassian’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure he isn’t,” Han said casually, smiling in the way that he did for magazines. It was the same smile that made Leia spit _scoundrel_ , before trying to tuck the magazine away when no one was looking. “Funny, how I didn’t even say his name, and you knew who I was talking about, hey kid?”

Jyn smiled, intent on not making the same mistake twice. She turned to lean her elbow on the railing, mimicking Han’s stance, “How about we talk about that song just you just released? What was it called again? _Princess_?”

“Hold on a minute, there,” Han stood, “We were talking about you, _pipsqueak_ – “

Jyn sang, “ _I love you, I know, I love you, I know_ – “

 “Alright,” Han said, pushing her shoulder lightly, “Scram, kid.”

Jyn saw Cassian approaching the door and stood, stepping backwards, arguing for the hell of it. “I was here first.”

“My house, my rules,” Han said, downing the remains of his cup. Jyn smirked and turned, reaching Cassian just as he opened the door. He didn’t have any cups in his hands, and Jyn stepped back as he leaned out of the door.

“You’re out of beer, Solo,” Cassian called, and Han grumbled. “Leia’s about to call for another few kegs – “

“Like hell she is,” Han said, jumping up and practically sprinting past them. Cassian watched after him.

“What’d you sat to him?”

Jyn shook her head, feeling a flush creeping up her neck. She prayed the weird lighting hid it from him. “He’s an idiot.” She paused, searching for any kind of distraction. Luckily, she heard one. “Is it tacky to dance to our own song?”

Cassian smiled, taking her hand. “Yes.” He pulled her off to the dance floor, backing into it to give Jyn the open side. It wasn’t exactly a slow song, but Jyn wound her arms around Cassian’s neck, anyways. His hands settled on her waist and she repressed a shiver, shutting her eyes and focusing on the feeling of Cassian’s thumb sliding up her hip, catching skin. Cassian’s voice crooned over the speakers, _she moves like a supernova, a shooting star that flies over, I wanna keep up, I gotta keep up_ …

///

Before they started the tour, Kay took one look at their set list and spouted so many statistics that Rogue One handed over control immediately, if only to prevent him from blowing a gasket. Jyn had to give it to him; Kay had struck the perfect balance, starting off the concert with a bang, but still building towards a climax. He knew when to give them breaks, too, strategically placing slower songs, or switching up their instruments.

Cassian was a great front man; he had a lot of energy and he could pump up the audience with a single note. But when he took out the acoustic guitar and crooned their slower songs, the audience stopped and listened. Kay took full advantage of that and scheduled him for a solo halfway through, to give them a bit of a break. Then Jyn and Bodhi took the vocals for the next song, giving Cassian a chance to take a breather.

They’d hit that point in their concert where it was their turn for a break while Cassian took on his solo. Jyn set her sticks down and chugged water, watching a stage hand appear in the corner of her eye to swap Cassian’s electric guitar for his acoustic. Cassian plucked at the strings, double checking it was tuned, approaching the mic to tell the audience that they were going to slow it down a bit, if they didn’t mind. The audience cheered in response, and Jyn smiled around the mouth of her bottle.

Cassian finished tuning and Jyn watched his back as he approached the mic again, now alone on stage. Bodhi and Kay were just behind the curtain, visible from her angle but not from the audience’s, sitting on a bench with water, yelling in each other’s ears to be heard.

Cassian started the first chords, and Jyn realized he wasn’t doing his usual stripped version of _The Force_. “I want to dedicate this to the one and only,” he said into the mic, and the audience _screamed_ , but she didn’t know if he stopped there, or if his voice was just drowned out by the noise.

Jyn sat back and listened, rolling her water bottle in her hand. Cassian’s voice was low, and Jyn had heard this cover a thousand times, but it still raised goosebumps on her skin.

“ _If there’s a reason that I’m by her side, when so many have tried – then, I’m willing to wait for it_ ,” he sang, and Jyn felt his fingers on her heartstrings, “ _I’m willing to wait for it_.”

///

Jyn had her feet up in Bodhi’s lap, arms across her eyes as she tried to get some shuteye while they were stopped. She usually didn’t sleep very on the bus, but she was making a half-assed attempt to make it happen now. She was bored, and didn’t have anything else to do, unless she wanted to stare down the notebook again. But she also didn’t want to get up, to try to catch some shut eye in the bunks in the back. Hence, the half-ass.

Bodhi was on his laptop, music playing quietly from it. She was laid out on the booth couch, half-tucked under the table, listening to Bodhi type and fiddle with the radio on his laptop. He was tuning around to the different stations, looking for something to listen to in the area. He was indecisive, listening to each station for thirty seconds, which was long enough for Jyn to start to believe that he’d settled, always changing it mid-song or word.

“ _Your fame has shot you into the spotlights, and hearts, of the world and I’m sure listeners are wondering: is there hope? Is there room in your hearts for someone, or is that space taken?_ ”

Jyn moved her head as she recognized Holdo’s voice. Bodhi paused his tuning, listening to the interview they’d recorded a couple months ago. It was late. They were probably replaying Holdo’s shows, instead of hiring a night DJ.

Jyn hadn’t heard the interview outside of when they did it, and reflected that it was weirder to hear yourself speak through a radio, than sing through it. It was just as bad as walking past a magazine, only to see your own eyes looking back at you.

Cassian’s laugh, then, “ _I’m not sure any of us have time for social lives, let alone love lives.”_

Then her own voice, which she cringed at, “ _Before this, I hadn’t seen someone who wasn’t in Rogue One for about a week_.”

Bodhi’s hand fit over her foot and shook it lightly. He knew she was awake. Jyn lifted her arm slightly.

“What?” She asked, her voice a little rough after edging along the cusp of sleep for an hour.

“Did you notice how Holdo looked straight at Cassian when she asked that?” Bodhi asked lightly. Jyn squinted at him.

“Sure,” she said, wondering what he was getting at. “He was answering _all_ the questions.” She thought of the party and remembered Bodhi and Luke, laughing on the couch together. Jyn and Cassian had stayed for hours longer than they were originally going to, seeking refuge on the deck, because they didn’t want to drag Bodhi away.

Jyn lifted her arm entirely off her face and propped her elbows beneath her, looking at Bodhi. “What’s up? Is this about Luke? Did something happen?”

Jyn felt him shaking his head, moving so quickly that he shook her legs too. “No, not – not me and – no,” Bodhi was flushed, scrambling out of a hole he apparently didn’t mean to dig. Jyn’s unease wasn’t satisfied, her eyebrows knitting together. “No, I – I’m talking about _you_ and Cassian.”

Jyn’s eyes went wide and she immediately craned her neck to the back, but the door to the bunk beds was closed. She glared at Bodhi, “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“He’s asleep,” Bodhi said, but his voice lowered further. “And he always wears earplugs when he sleeps on the bus, anyways.” She knew that to be true, but the knowledge didn’t give her any ease. Jyn held his eye for a moment longer before lying back down, slinging her arm back over her eyes. She bared down on her forearm a little, taking comfort in the dark. When she felt like she could pretend she was alone, Jyn spoke.

“Look he – he and I… We’re friends, we’re close, but he doesn’t – “

Bodhi cut her off, his voice gentle, “Have you _talked_ to him about it?”

Jyn paused. She said, a bit weakly, “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable – “

Bodhi cut her off again. “Make all the excuses you want, Jyn, but you have known each other for three years now, and have been essentially inseparable since.” His voice was strong but not aggressive. It went even softer for his next words, “Your foundation is solid. It’s not going to be rocked by a question.”

He went quiet for a moment. When Jyn didn’t respond, he started fiddling with the radio, apparently signalling that he’d said his piece.  

But it wasn’t just a question, was it? It couldn’t be that simple. But – she could also talk to Cassian about anything. He was always the person she went to first. Why was this different?

Jyn kept her arm over her eyes and didn’t move for a long time, but she didn’t sleep, either.

///

A week passed, and Jyn found herself in a twenty four hour grocers. Her body was exhausted from the concert they’d just finished, but her mind was still buzzing, unconvinced by her usual cup of tea. Randomly, she’d gotten a craving for Wagon Wheels, which had Cassian searching his phone for the nearest grocery store that was still open.

Their cart had very quickly spiralled out of control. They found the Wagon Wheels, but then Jyn decided she also wanted Twinkies, and Bodhi had texted asking for chips, but didn’t specify what kind or reply to their messages. Their solution was to buy one of every kind.

Things had quickly devolved from there. They started to wander the aisles aimlessly, grabbing whatever crap they wanted. Jyn had her elbows leaned on the cart, one foot on the cart to ride it like a scooter. Cassian was just ahead of her, grabbing a box of Dunkaroos and tossing it in the cart. She kept an eye on him, but he wasn’t limping, even though he hadn’t gotten his usual time with the ice pack. She’d keep watching closely.

They rounded the corner to the magazine aisle. Cassian stepped quickly forward to take a magazine off the shelf, holding it out so she could see the cover. It was the same magazine Jyn had studied in Holdo’s station. Cassian smiled at her from under his baseball cap as Jyn leaned over the cart.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this,” he said, waving it before putting it back on the shelf.

“Not gonna buy it?” Jyn teased and Cassian shook his head.

“I’d rather the cashier _didn’t_ post our location on Twitter at midnight,” Cassian said, and Jyn laughed a little. Jyn laughed, looking at the magazine. Cassian was right. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to hand the cashier a magazine advertising their identities.

He continued forward and Jyn glided after him, scanning the magazines, until she saw familiar eyes peering out at her from the bottom row, in the very back. She stuck her heel down and skidded to a stop, yanking the magazine out of its place and seeing the title – _La Estrella_. Cassian’s photo took up the entire cover, wearing the same suit he had been when she visited him on that set.

Cassian realized she wasn’t following and turned, seeing her flicking through the magazine. He peered over her shoulder as Jyn huffed, realizing it was entirely in Spanish. Cassian smirked, “Can’t read it?”

Jyn ignored him, flipping through to the page labelled with his name. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but that was entirely in Spanish too. She skimmed the page until she found her name, and clumsily read out the words, “Jyn ess me com-pan-era.”

Cassian chuckled at her mispronunciation, taking the magazine from her, “Having trouble, _gringa_?” But he tossed the magazine in the cart, despite his earlier point.

Jyn leaned back over the cart and watched him, his hand half-curled around the edge of the cart, scanning the shelves. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Bodhi said. His words had gotten caught up in her head, tangling with _welcome home_. She loathed to admit it, but the more she thought about it, the more she felt sure that he was right.

Cassian looked back at her suddenly, looking a little odd. “Jyn, is there something on your mind?”

Jyn paused and worried her lip. “I’m – “ _not about to confess a damn crush in the middle of the supermarket._

“Just thinking about the song,” she said, hoping it was a smooth enough save. But Cassian fisted his fingers around the cart, bringing them to a stop. Her heart sped and she did her best to look calm as Cassian leaned over the car, slipping into her space.

“Jyn,” he said, “There is absolutely no pressure to find something for those words. They don’t have to be a song.” He hesitated, his hand working around the wire of the cart. “Maybe they’re just something… between us. Maybe they’re ours.”

Jyn’s heart raced for an entirely different reason then. She nodded, holding his look. Cassian nodded too, his hand tightening before releasing the cart, but he didn’t look away from her.

///

“It’s going well. We’re having fun. I’m – happy, Mama,” Jyn said, sitting on the edge of the stage with one leg hugged to her chest. Her phone was pressed to her ear and her eyes were on the chairs before her, empty for now.

“I’m glad, my love,” Lyra said in her soft, melodic voice. “You deserve to be happy after all that happened.”

Jyn loved her mother. There was a time in her life when Lyra had been her best friend, and she missed it every day. Lyra taught Jyn how to play her first instrument – the piano – and it was all Jyn thought about when she played one.

Leaving had shot a crack through their relationship, like a crevice cut through a frozen lake. She didn’t speak to her mother or father when she was with The Partisans, aside from the monthly _I’m-alive_ phone calls Saw made her make.

It was Chirrut that convinced her to get back in touch with Lyra, just after they released their EP. It had been a slow process, but Lyra was eager to work at it, and so was Jyn.

The weekly phone calls were a part of that process. They weren’t smooth, but at least they weren’t as stilted as they used to be.

“How’re things with you?” Jyn asked, “The orchestra?”

“Oh, swimmingly,” Lyra said. “We’re doing a tribute weekend to the music of The Clash. I think you’d really enjoy it.”

Jyn smiled, “ _They’d_ hate it.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Jyn thought about asking her mother about the song, but dismissed the idea. Lyra and Jyn’s taste in music was… different, to say the least. They probably wouldn’t mesh. She was still caught up on the song, now more so than ever. After what Cassian said, she was determined to write it. Even if they never published it, and it stayed theirs. She wanted to do it for him.

She had another question for Lyra, which made her flush all the way down to her toes, but it was her mother – she was supposed to ask her about this sort of thing.

“Can I,” she asked, awkward, “Ask some advice?”

She could practically _hear_ Lyra sitting up, pressing the phone harder to her ear. “Of course, dearest. Anything.” She paused. “Is it about a boy?” Another pause, “Is it about your singer? Cassian?”

“ _God_ , Mama,” Jyn said, looking behind her, as if he’d overhear from the backstage dressing room. She was regretting this decision, and looked hopefully for a hole to swallow her up. “No, I – I wanted to ask about music. I’m working on this song, but I need some help with it.”

“Oh,” Lyra’s voice was soft. Touched. “Of course, dearest. How can I help?”

Jyn thought for a moment. It hadn’t been her original plan, but, “If I email some sheets, can you give me your opinion?”

Lyra’s smile came through her voice. “I’ll certainly do my best. When do you need it by?”

“No rush,” Jyn said, remembering Cassian’s words. “It’s just something I’m toying with right now.”

“Of course. I’ll… I’ll definitely let you know what I think. I need to go, but I love you, Jyn. Thank you.”

“Love you too.”

///

The first song of the concert was always her favourite. They began with one of their loudest, so they literally started with a bang as Jyn laid out one of her best solos into her drums. She loved sneaking out on stage in the dark, to hear the audience, quiet and buzzing, phones spreading a sea of light through the arena. But as soon as Jyn slammed into the drums, the spell would snap, and the audience would scream so loudly that they would drown out Cassian’s first lyrics.

She loved shattering the silence, smashing their way into the concert and lighting up the audience.

Their audience screamed through the first verse, catching up to sing along until the end. It left Jyn panting, having given her all for that three minutes twenty seconds, nearly spent by it. She sat back and shook out her wrists while Cassian introduced them, standing when Cassian said her name.

“Thank you, thank you,” Cassian said, waving down their cheering. He glanced back at Jyn and caught her eye, smiling as he returned to the audience. “Today is a very special day,” the audience cheered, forcing him to stop again, and he chuckled. Jyn watched him carefully. She would probably cheer at anything he said if she was down in the audience too.

“Today is a very special day,” he said again, “Because today is the birthday of the one and only, the unstoppable, the insurmountable _–_ Jyn Erso.”

The audience roared, even louder than before. Then Bodhi was tugging her up out of her chair to stage at the front of the stage with him and Cassian, Kay looming behind them. Cassian and Bodhi led them in singing _Happy Birthday,_ Kay playing along on the keyboard.

Jyn would’ve _hated_ this sort of thing three years ago, and probably would’ve bolted right off stage. But she’d come a long way in those three years. Now, it just made her warm. Even when, at the end of the song, Bodhi and Cassian each kissed her temple, and Kay patted her shoulder.

Jyn took the mic from Cassian and stuck it in the stand, picking up a set sticks from one of the felt bags they had hidden around the stage. She turned, standing back to back with Cassian, glancing back to watch Bodhi get into her chair, counting them in.

Jyn and Cassian slammed their drums in unison. They missed each other by millimetres as they swung back for another, the space a result of knowledge, not chance. Jyn slammed the odaiko, glancing back at Cassian before returning to the song. Cassian turned, tossing her the mic.

She loved her drums, but she loved this too.

///

Jyn checked her inbox for the fourth time, but Lyra hadn’t returned her email yet. It was understandable. She’d only gotten to sending it two hours before, and it was nearing three AM in London.

She closed the email app and opened her contacts, pressing her finger on the right until the “S” on the scroll appeared. She hesitated. It was enough of a beat for her screen to blink, changing to the incoming call screen, from none other than Galen Erso.

Jyn hit ignore and stood, going to find out what the others were doing.

///

Jyn didn’t have social media for two very good reasons: she hated social media, and she was short tempered. She was sure to stick her foot in her mouth and bring some sort of emoji spam down on their heads. Which was something that Bodhi had to explain to her, and was also something that Jyn thought was _pathetic_.

She didn’t have any social media, but sometimes she got curious, so Bodhi would let her scroll through it on his phone. She searched _Rogue One_ on Instagram, and dozens of pictures showed up from their last concert. It was cool to see their concert through the eyes of fans, and she fell into a scrolling spiral, liking some of the more artistic ones she saw, and not realizing that it gave some poor fans heart attacks when they opened their apps.

Jyn was slouched low in the hot bus, swiping mindlessly while Kay typed on his laptop on the couch. Bodhi was lying in the back, Baze dozing as well, and Chirrut sat with headphones in, listening to his audio book. Cassian was the only one in the booth with her, working on his tablet.

One of the photos caught her eye in particular. It was from the photoshoot, when Jyn offered Cassian some of her drink. One of the assistants, or even the photographer, must’ve snapped it. Her eyes were down, looking at the drink, but Cassian’s eyes were on her, looking like she hung the damn moon. The image made her pause. It was one thing to know someone was looking at her, in an absent-minded, forever aware of it, sort of way. It was entirely another to have someone point it out to you, even over the internet.

Jyn must’ve been still for a long time, because she started when Cassian said her name, tilting his head at her curiously. His tablet was flat on the table. “What’s that?” He asked, indicating the phone.

Jyn glanced down at the photo, then slid the phone across the table to him. Cassian leaned over the picture and his expression did something it hadn’t done it a long time. It went unreadable. Jyn watched him, trying to read the features she thought she knew fluently, but they betrayed nothing.

“It’s a good picture,” she blurted, panic spiking in her veins. Then Cassian looked up at her and the mask dropped away, easing into a smile that had her squirming for an entirely different reason. It looked like intent.

Jyn wasn’t stupid. What Bodhi said – it wasn’t a surprise to her. It caught her off guard, sure, and raised some old defenses, but. Jyn knew. They were creeping towards something. Jyn had been running from everything for so long – from her parents, from Saw, that she was desperately trying not to run from this.

He’d never voiced it, but Jyn knew that Cassian understood. She knew it in the same way she knew that he would translate that magazine for her the second she asked, and probably try to teach her a thing or two on the way. She knew it in the same way that she knew he would weave her music in into the exact words that she meant. She trusted him with anything she wrote; she trusted him with every shard of herself. She knew she could, in the same way that she knew he would hit the odaiko at precisely the same moment as her.

Cassian understood that she needed space and time. He was the most patient person she knew. He moved like the tide around her, drawing close but pulling back when she needed it, giving her the space she needed to breathe. He knew it because he was the same.

When Jyn first met Cassian, she thought he was an open book that she could read backwards. But he sledgehammered that idea after the first week she spent with him, as she realized just how private he really was. Cassian cradled his thoughts and feelings close, just like Jyn. But instead of hiding behind silence, he used a smiling, easy mask. He wore dozens of them, playing the part of charming frontman whenever needed. But he was different away from the cameras. He was quieter, more introverted; he wasn’t less, but more. He would never judge her, because they were cut from the same cloth, but sewn into different patterns.

The mask was gone as he looked at her then, his face all honesty. “It is,” Cassian replied, still smiling that little, dangerous smile. “It’s a very good picture.”

///

They had another week off, and decided to fly home for this one. Jyn loved touring, but it was a relief to be home. She didn’t realize she was so tired until she collapsed into bed immediately upon arriving home, and didn’t get back up for eighteen straight hours. The others said they even went in to go check on her, but she was sleeping like the dead.

When she finally woke, it was almost two in the morning. Jyn rolled out of bed and got a glimpse of herself, cringing at the gluey eye makeup and the greasy clumps that were her bangs. She washed her face before she checked her phone, where she found a message that had her sprinting down the stairs.

Lyra had replied with a video of herself at the piano, trying the song out on the one instrument that Jyn had avoided. But that was it. That was what the song needed.

Jyn reached the piano in their studio at such a speed that she slid across the bench a little, nearly tipping it. She hardly noticed, fingers finding the keys automatically as she tried the song out. But it wasn’t quite right. She changed the key, modified a few of the notes. And there it was.

She was thinking power ballad, which was right. But Jyn had forgotten that there was a hell of a punch in the piano, too. She was thinking a crescendo of fireworks, a cacophony of heat and noise to match the power of the words. But she should’ve been paying attention to the quiet it settled instead, and the power of that peace. The swell of happiness so great, it felt melancholic. It was just as earth shattering as any banger she wrote.

She placed her fingers on the keys and began to play, mounting the music higher, higher, until her voice broke out, singing the only two words she knew. _Welcome home_. She dragged the syllables, savouring every one but especially the second ‘o’, pulling it like caramel.

She played it through to the end, knitting the pieces together, her mother’s touch bridging the gaps that she couldn’t figure out. She was so wrapped up in it that she didn’t hear him come in, didn’t even know that he was there until she stopped and he spoke.

“Jyn,” and how did he _do_ that, work so much emotion into her name? It was only three letters. He always chose his words so carefully, hardly ever settling for anything less than poetry. And here he was, saying her name, again and again.

“Cassian,” she replied, dragging a knee up on the bench to turn and face him. Something in her voice had him walking slowly towards her, sinking onto the bench and facing her. Cassian reached out and tucked her bangs back.

His voice was oddly hoarse, “Is that what you feel, when you hear those words?”

Jyn’s voice was a whisper. “Yes.”

Of course he understood; he’d always translated her music. He always knew what she meant.

She shut her eyes as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

Jyn saw a supercut: a long car ride, teasing voices; his foot on hers in an interview; sitting, back to back, as they listened to the album; his dedications to her, _the one and only_ ; his thumb tracing her hip as they danced; hours in the studio, arguing and agreeing, building their album; secret messages on stage, a promise to wait; this, now, his forehead on hers and anticipation creeping up her spine; a bar, a lifetime ago.

Her palm cupped his cheek, thumb grazing his stubble. More than any song or concert, he made her feel brave.

///

Back stage before a show was holding your breath as you jumped off a diving board. It was the seconds of free fall, breath held in your mouth, eyes shut in anticipation.

Every band had its own pre-show prep, and it usually varied from band member to band member. Kay picked his keyboard apart to fiddle with the wires. Bodhi sat back and listened to music with his old headphones, like an athlete arriving to a big game. Cassian was quiet, and would fold himself into a chair to read. Tonight he was lying on a couch backstage, reading something in Spanish and wearing a black tank top with three white stripes across his chest.

Jyn treated each show like a boxing match, going for a run and stretching beforehand. Her music would blare in her ears as she stomped to the beat, burning off the overwhelming energy to something manageable. Something powerful, but not drowning.

(It didn’t _used_ to include making out with Cassian in the back for twenty minutes, but Jyn wasn’t averse to change. He tasted like sunlight and the first note of every song.)

In the last few minutes before the show, the cards were off the table. Too much energy buzzed through the room, one step away from converting to anxiety. That was when Cassian would call them all together in a huddle just behind the curtains, arms round each other and heads together. Instead of resting his arm on her back and reaching his fingers for Bodhi’s, he curled his fingers around Jyn’s side, catching a bit of exposed skin there.

Heads together, Jyn started, “We’ll hit the next song, and the next. Just like every other night.”

Cassian held her a little tighter, “Make four feel like a hundred.”

///

If Cassian had never found her, she didn’t know what she would’ve done. Waste away in that bar, probably, trapped there like a prison. But three years earlier he _did_ find her, and he _did_ convince her, igniting something she’d thought she lost.

Jyn was polishing a glass when they came in. She noticed them in the absent-minded service industry way; see where they were sitting, if they were waving her down for a drink, if they grabbed a menu and she had to kick the chef’s ass in gear, etcetera. But they did neither, and Jyn continued her work at the bar, assuming they would come up when they were ready.

She nodded unconsciously to the music, the summer’s number one single bleeding out of the radio while she ran over a list of chores in her head. She had to wipe down the tables soon, and still had to mop the floor behind the bar, where she’d managed to drop a bottle of Sour Puss. Who the hell drank Sour Puss in a bar, anyway? Wasn’t it reserved for drunk college girls in clubs, the drink’s taste covered up by a combination of syrups and the whiplash of a shot?

One of the men finally approached the bar; he had brown hair and the start of a beard, wearing a worn button down that was still too nice for the shitty bar. His friend, who was about nine feet tell and had silver rimmed glasses, remained in the booth, arms crossed, as if not to touch the table.

“Hey,” brown hair said, and Jyn glanced up to see his eyes were just as brown, like melted chocolate. She nodded, returning to her cups quickly.

“What can I get you?”

“I’m Cassian,” he said instead, hand twitching, as if he wondered if he should offer it. But Jyn’s hands were busy polishing glasses, and covered in all the grime she was working off of them.

Jyn nodded again. That didn’t answer her question. “Beer?”

“Yes, please,” he said, leaning his hands on the counter. Unlike his friend, he didn’t seem phased by the dingy bar. That was good, because Jyn didn’t both to stop and wash her hands before she got him a jug from the tap, setting two empty mugs with it.

Cassian paused. He didn’t even look at the drinks, busy staring at her. “I was actually hoping I could buy you a drink?”

Jyn hardly glanced at him, returning to work. She’d seen he was handsome when he walked up to the bar. But handsome was exactly the last thing Jyn needed.

“I don’t drink with customers,” she responded automatically, turning around to wipe the beer tap with the same polishing cloth. He was still there when she turned back around, drinks untouched. Jyn raised her eyebrows, finally meeting his eyes.

“You’re Jyn Erso, aren’t you?” He said it calmly enough, but there was something else in his expression, something she couldn’t quite decipher. Nervousness? Worry?

Jyn paused, then tapped the stupid name badge she had to wear. Saw’s babysitters were getting more and more obvious.

“No,” she said, pointing at the name badge, “I’m Kestrel.” Movement over his shoulder caught her attention, and she saw his huge friend lumber over.

“I have told you several times,” his lanky friend said, “She would not agree to this.”

“Kay, please,” Cassian said.

Jyn picked up one of the tubs of dirty glasses, deciding to relocate down the bar. “I don’t drink with stalkers, either,” Jyn took back the beer jug and the mugs, sticking them in the basin, and Cassian swung back to her.

“Wait – please,” he said, and it was the _please_ that had her pausing. She couldn’t remember the last time someone said that to her. She’d been working in a dive bar for the past year, after touring with the less than polite Partisans. The bar was low.

Her manager appeared from the kitchen, sending her a look. Jyn shook her head. _I’ve got this._ Her manager stuck around, microbraids swinging as she stepped behind the till, ringing some customers up. Her sharp eyes were obviously trained on them, in case she had to intervene.

Jyn returned her attention to Cassian as he smoothly took a laptop out of the bag slung over his shoulder, logging on before swinging it around to her. He hit the spacebar, starting the video, and Jyn watched shaky camera footage zoom in on the band on stage. The setting was a narrow bar with a narrower stage, so tight that the knees of the drummer were jammed up against her instrument, though you couldn’t tell from the shitty quality of the camera.

You _could_ tell the drummer was a woman with brown hair, leaning in to the mic. “ _Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train –_ “

Jyn looked up at Cassian as the video continued to play for another thirty seconds. A snapshot of the show from a year ago, one of her last. Cassian was looking at her earnestly, “This is you, isn’t it?”

“Get out,” Jyn said, turning away from them.

Kay added helpfully, “I told you this would be her reaction. She is not even exponentially talented, I do not understand your persistence.”

Jyn slapped her polishing cloth on the bar, spinning around. “ _Get out_.” Then she stalked down the bar, catching only the front-end of the hiss Cassian directed at his friend.

Jyn turned to see Cassian walking towards her, laptop tucked in his chest, Kay headed out the door. He couldn’t take a hint. She crossed her arms.

“I’m starting a band,” Cassian answered, “And I would love to work with you.”

Then his name clicked for Jyn. It helped that she tuned into the radio just at that moment, and heard the cover that everyone had been raving about all summer – _we keep living anyways, we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes_ –

Jyn slammed off the radio, turning back to find Cassian _Andor_ still looking at her. “That’s nice,” she said, putting the basin down. But she didn’t stomp to Ahsoka, which surprised even herself.

“You’re incredibly talented, Jyn,” he said in that earnest voice. “And I need a drummer.”

“I don’t do that stuff anymore,” she replied, but still didn’t move.

“Maybe you do, though,” Cassian insisted. “There’s no such thing as natural born talent. You _worked_ for that, Jyn. And the callouses haven’t faded from your hands yet. “

Jyn glanced down at her hands, exposed in their position, then tucked them deeply into her elbows. Cassian cut her off before she could respond, “I’m working on something right now, maybe you can humor me?”

“I’m working,” Jyn said.

“Jyn, you’re off shift.” Jyn turned to glare at her manager. Ahsoka smiled at Jyn; she hadn’t gone to her for help, or kicked Cassian out on his ass herself, which Ahsoka knew meant something. Ahsoka looked Cassian slowly up and down, then raised her eyebrows at Jyn, before turning to attend to customers.

Cassian pulled a notebook from his bag, the corners bent white and the dollar-store sticker half-peeled off the front. He flipped open to a page of music that was almost entirely pen, full of more scratched out lines than notes. The only confident, hardly edited piece on the page were lyrics, written in an italic hand above. Apparently, he was having trouble with the arrangement.

Jyn understood why after glancing at it. The drum arrangement was a mess, and she wouldn’t even get started on what he had for the guitar.

“What the hell is this?”

Cassian looked up, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse you what?” Jyn said, pulling the notebook closer to point out the sacrilege. “Look at this drum line – paired with _this_ guitar? It looks fine on paper, and I bet you think it sounds fine when you play each instrument individually – but it’s gonna sound like shit when you play them together.”

Cassian studied her, not the music. “What do you mean?” Jyn held out her hand and Cassian put his pen into it.

Within the hour, they’d hardly moved, both leaned so far over the bar that their heads were almost knocking together. They poured over the song, bickering over notes and words, singing it back and forth until they realized it needed _two_ voices, and factored that in too. Jyn got a knee on the back counter to get closer, and Cassian’s shoulder was knocking into hers, the bar cutting into his ribs, but he didn’t seem to notice. They were busy, changing the key of half the song, and adding another verse, changing the bridge to accommodate that.

It was like going running a marathon after being locked in a basement for a year. It took a minute to shake the rust, but once it was gone, she was soaring, feeling a rush that she hadn’t let herself feel since Saw left.

“That’s it,” Cassian said, staring at the music, hours later. Jyn’s shift had actually finished, and the night crowd had rolled in, but they hadn’t moved from their spots at the bar. Jyn watched him, just like she’d watched him when his face lit up as they perfected the chorus, just like she’d watched him listen to every single one of her suggestions, but didn’t take them lying down. He pushed back when he needed to, but trusted her judgement when she was right. It was intense and fierce and Jyn never wanted to do anything else.

She watched him, and realized how tired she was of running in place, running _away_. She was going to run towards something, for once.

“I wonder if we could use this outro for something else, I really like it,” Cassian said thoughtfully, unaware of the realization she was coming to as he pointed at an outro they’d cut. They wanted the song to end abruptly, instead of leading out.

“I’m in,” she told him, watching as he snapped up to look at her. They were sitting very close. Even on opposite sides of the bar. She hadn’t realized it until that second, her knee numb and every single one of his eyelashes visible to her. Kissing distance.

“With the band,” she clarified. She was frozen, caught in the way the lights in his eyes struck her like high beams.

But they were nothing compared to the smile that rose like the damn sun on his face. “Welcome home, Jyn.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jyn and Cassian are SOFT okay
> 
> I am a university girl and I can confirm that Jyn is right; Sour Puss should only be drank in clubs mixed with fruit juices. Please don’t down half a bottle while playing cards with your friends. It’ll make your throat hurt like a bitch, and that’s just the night of.
> 
> I listened to _Swooner_ and Radical Face’s _Welcome Home_ the whole time I wrote this. If you want to have your heart ripped out by melancholy happiness, Radical Face is the way to go.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Musings? Informed theories about Jabba’s texture? I’m on [tumblr](http://clytemnestrad.tumblr.com/).


End file.
